


A Matter of Pride

by RedChucks



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, M/M, Mention of scars and past injuries, Murder Mystery, Romance, Scenes of a sexual nature - Freeform, but it’s not gory, i promise it’s not as bad as it sounds, mention of dead bodies, mention of violence, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-18 05:37:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 81,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14206245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedChucks/pseuds/RedChucks
Summary: Detective David Sharma is on the hunt for a serial killer, a hunt that has led him to the rural Australian town of Port Evans. Dillon Kelly is the victim of a break-in, a man with a painful past and a deep distrust of cops, and he fits the killer’s victim profile exactly.David tells himself that his concern for Dillon is purely professional but can he really deny the attraction he feels? Can he really keep Dillon safe without compromising his cover and jeopardising the case?





	1. Chapter 1

Dillon looked up, trying to pinpoint the sound that had caused his heart to clench suddenly and painfully in his chest. It came again, a tearing sound, slow and deliberate. He stayed frozen a moment longer, refusing to believe that it could possibly be true, but the scrape of a boot along the wooden floor confirmed his fear. There was someone in his home. He grabbed his cane, holding it tight as he tried to calm his breathing. Outside the rain pattered against the roof, and above him the fan whirred quietly. The view out of the small, loft window was black but he had no idea how long he’d been sat on the cosy daybed with his book, the night gave him no clues and the only clock was downstairs in the kitchen; downstairs where the noises had come from.

Panic was rising in his chest, the fear he had thought he was finally past hitting him so hard he worried for a moment that he would faint, or vomit, or both. His body felt suddenly too hot, his heartbeat too fast, and he had no idea what to do. A large part of him wanted to stay in the corner of the loft and hide but the smaller part of his brain, the stubborn part, rebelled at the idea, and when a thud echoed through the silent house, he lurched forward to the railing. 

His eyes narrowed as he scanned the small space. It wasn’t a big place. The living room and kitchen were both visible from the loft and they were empty and silent, but he knew he’d heard something, and determined not to be strangled by his fear. Whatever, or whoever, was in his home had to either be in his bathroom, or his bedroom. The thought made his eyes water but he forced back the tears; he could do this.

Dillon limped carefully down the narrow staircase, took several deep breaths to ease the pain in his heaving chest, and edged toward the bedroom. Another sound, like a gust of wind through curtains, came from the other side of the door and he felt the bile rise in his throat again. Only this time, instead of being frozen by fear, anger began to rise up within him. He tried to convince himself that he could face whatever was behind his door but his knee wobbled, the weakened muscle straining as he tried to plant his feet. It was only two more steps to the door, but Dillon still hesitated. Maybe, he thought, it would be best to just call the police, that was what normal people did in this sort of situation, wasn’t it? Only the twinge in his leg reminded him that relying on the cops wasn’t necessarily in his best interests. He took another deep breath instead, and tried to relax his muscles a little before the ache in his leg got any worse. He could handle this himself; he’d been through worse.

He stepped forward carefully, leaning heavily on his stick to hide his footfalls, and reached his hand out to grab the door handle. His heart began to pound like it wanted to break free from his chest, so hard it hurt, and he cursed the prickling behind his eyes as the tears returned and threatened to fall. This could be nothing. A possum had probably snuck in through the open window. He was good with animals, he reminded himself, and there was nothing to fear from a possum. Of course, his brain informed him traitorously, if it was a possum it would have to get through the fly screen first, and he’d never heard of a possum that could work a latch.

His grasp the handle tightly, there was no going back, and without giving himself any more time to over-think Dillon pushed hard on the door and flicked on the light as he all but fell in to the room. Something was clamoring out of the bedroom window and it definitely wasn’t a possum.

“Oi, what the fuck are you doing?” he yelled, sounding a lot fiercer than he felt.

The intruder in the black hoodie jumped at the sound of his voice but didn’t stop and Dillon made no move to tackle him, not when the man was already halfway out the window. The voice was all for show anyway, he was all bark and no bite, and a second later the intruder had slipped through the window and out in to the darkness. For a long moment Dillon didn’t know what to do, his body was frozen, but eventually he stumbled forward to the window, looking desperately out in to the night. He could just about make out the glowing circle of a torch through the sheets of rain as it bobbled down across the field. The man was heading toward the bush-land at the end of the property, and the national park beyond, so it seemed, and Dillon shivered. 

He turned back to his room but it didn’t make him feel any better. Drawers had been opened and boxes had been pulled from the cupboard, things he hadn’t bothered to unpack when he arrived, and the pictures and flag he’d hung on his wall were all torn down. He clutched at his cane as the tears threatened again, not caring that his hand was beginning to cramp. The intruder had been holding something as he fled. 

Sudden outrage rushed through Dillon’s veins, fueled by the adrenaline and nerves caused by the ordeal, and he stumbled as fast as he could from the bedroom and out in to the kitchen. The rain hit him like a water cannon’s blast as he yanked the back door open, but in that moment he didn’t feel it, and was down the porch steps before he registered the cold. He was too focused on the distant torchlight and his bare feet slipped on the rocks and mud as he attempted to catch up, even as his leg began to scream at him over being treated so badly. 

The pain hit him suddenly and he cried out as the nerves in his foot began to misfire and his hip throbbed as if he’d poured boiling water over his skin, rather than the rainwater that currently drenched him. He stopped, gasping for air, the adrenaline gone, his body shivering near uncontrollably. His t-shirt and track pants were wet through and his hair was plastered to his head, obscuring his vision, and he was alone in the middle of a patch of scrub, in the dark. What’d he been thinking? He shook his head at his own stupidity as he realised that even if he’d somehow managed to catch up with the bloke, he wouldn’t have been able to overpower him. He was a cripple, and he could hardly beat the guy with his cane when it was supporting ninety percent of his weight, could he? His anger over the theft had pushed him out of the kitchen door, but sense and fear made him quit.

Out among the trees, the light became a distant flicker before Dillon lost sight of it altogether, and that decided it for him. No way was he stepping foot in the bush after dark, he’d be as good as gone once he got inside the park, and lost within seconds. He bent over, resting his free hand on his knee, as he watched the rain drip down through his overlong hair. It really was getting far too long, he realised, even by his standards, but he could hardly do anything about it out in the rain, and besides, he had bigger problems to worry about. He was going to have to call the police whether he wanted to or not.

It was a long, arduous walk back up to the cabin, and his hand was shaking when he picked up his mobile, his lungs still burning along with his overworked hip and leg. Would this time be different, he wondered. Would the cops out here be any more understanding than the ones he’d had to deal with before? He doubted it, and as he struggled out of the wet t-shirt and sat down heavily at the kitchen table he was filled with a stomach-turning sense of dread. He was an outsider, new to the town, and he’d seen folk whispering about him at the supermarket and doctor’s office. He’d be lucky if the police here even bothered to follow up on his call and he doubted they’d make any real effort to catch the thief. Still, he’d be damned if was going to let it go unreported.

*

Detective David Sharma only had a partial view of the man who’d phoned in the robbery, but he had to admit that it wasn’t a bad view. The guy had opened the door but left the chain lock on and all David could see was part of his bare chest and narrow hips, and a pair of very sharp dark eyes glaring out at him. He looked like something out of a fashion catalogue and David felt his cheeks heat at being so close to someone so attractive, even if they didn’t look at all pleased to see him.

“Good evening sir. Mr. Kelly, is it? Did you report a robbery? I’m Officer Sharma.”

The man on the other side of the door lifted his chin, suspicion evident in the thin line of his lips, and David tried to ignore the way it highlighted the man’s striking bone structure. He was on a job; he wasn’t supposed to be ogling a possible crime victim. What was wrong with his brain? He decided to blame it on the terrible state of his motel bed and the subsequent lack of sleep and tried to focus on appearing calm and trustworthy. He needed the people in this town to trust him and so far he had not been doing a very good job of it. 

“You don’t look… local,” the man told him tentatively. “And I don’t see a uniform. How do I know you’re who you say you are?”

His words were soft but clipped, his tone wary, and by the way his chest was heaving Dave knew the guy was probably stressed and on edge so did his best to sound calm and non-confrontational as he replied. He’d only been in town for three days and they had been a long and tiresome three days. Mr. Kelly was far from the first person in the dusty South Australian town to comment on his dark skin; most everyone he’d met so far acted like the very idea of an Indian man deciding to be a police officer and not a doctor, or delivery driver for their local curry place, was just unheard of. No one had been aggressively racist, at least not yet, just blithely ignorant, and David was doing his best to just grin his way through it. Now he wondered why the other officers had been so eager to send him out on this particular call. None of the Port Evans officers had said anything directly, but the implication was that Dillon Kelly was a member of the community who David should meet. Maybe he was the local xenophobe, David thought; that would be just his luck. He wasn’t popular with the other members of the station yet, hadn’t had a chance to build their trust, and knew he had to tread lightly until he got a better understanding of the situation. 

“I’m new,” he explained with a friendly smile. “Just got here a few days ago, in fact.”

On the other side of the door he saw the man shuffle uncomfortably, eyes flickering. “Can I see your badge, please?” Now that he was a little calmer his voice was soft and melodic, David felt his heartbeat quicken for a moment at the gentle tone. They were almost of a height and he tried to make eye contact with the man, but those dark, wary eyes just flickered from his face to the darkness behind him and David struggled to get a read on the guy. It was making him nervous just watching the way the man’s eyes were darting and he pulled his ID from his back pocket and held it up so the man could take a look at it through the gap in the door, taking the opportunity to study Dillon Kelly’s intense, intelligent face when it was still, until his eyes narrowed again. “Sydney police?”

“I’ve just transferred. Fancied a sea change,” he responded with a smile, a little miffed he didn’t get one in return.

“You sure you weren’t sent here as punishment?”

The snark in that particular comment made him laugh and his heart skipped when a smile flickered across the guy’s lips. It had felt a little like being sent to Naraka, the hell his grandmother had always warned him of when he was a child, but it had been his decision. 

“Nah, nothing like that,” he grinned. “I just needed a break from the big city and, you know, there are diversity quotas that need filling. I agreed to go country, I ended up here.” 

He shrugged and hoped the guy bought it. Dillon Kelly didn’t need to know that he was really a temporary transfer for a special investigation, one that had to remain under the radar. Half of the department here didn’t know he wasn’t a long-term transfer, a fact that probably had something to do with their hostility, but David just didn’t have time for any of that. Some years ago, he’d been the one to link together the disappearances of several gay men in Sydney and put a serial killer behind bars. He was still sure that there were more victims but his bosses hadn’t been too keen to hear about how their own officers had failed to take the disappearances seriously. The media had been keen though, and soon David had developed something of a reputation as a serial killer expert and had been lent out to other states and cities when cases stalled and killers couldn’t be caught. He was one of the best; there was no point in denying it. And now Port Evans needed his expertise. 

After one final, suspicious look Dillon undid the chain lock and opened the door just wide enough to let David slip through. “I tried to catch him myself, but he got away.”

That explained the wet hair and lack of shirt then. It was still pissing down out there and even his thick coat hadn’t been much protection. David stepped in to the small, warm house gratefully but his steps faltered when he actually came face to face with the man. It was hard not to stumble and stutter over his words, or his feet, when faced with someone so intensely beautiful. Dillon Kelly’s hair was hanging in wet tendrils around his face, accentuating his finely sculpted jaw and cheekbones, and the dark lines of his brows and lashes. His mouth, though firm, was full lipped, and his body was lithe and lightly muscled, despite his slim stature. He was like a painting, David thought, too perfectly balanced in features to be real, but he was jolted from his musings by an unexpected glint of light from a cane in the man’s hand. He hadn’t seen it when the door had been between them and he blinked in surprise, attempting to reel in his thoughts from where they had drifted.

“You should leave catching the crooks to the police, mate, especially in your condition. Or did you twist your ankle during the pursuit?”

He’d meant it as a light hearted, throw away sort of line, but the guy stiffened and his eyes turned cold as he took a halting step backwards. He was leaning so heavily on his cane that David wanted to put an arm around him to take some of the strain but it was obvious that that was out of the question, and plain as day that the guy didn’t trust cops. David had seen it enough over the years that he had a nose for it, and he tried to make himself less threatening as he took off his coat and tucked his shoulders in tight to his body, but Dillon Kelly didn’t relax.

“Calling you lot is always a last resort for me.”

Dave heard the tinge of bitterness in the man’s voice. Something had definitely gone down between Dillon and the police and he had a sudden suspicion that the cane, and the limp, was somehow involved. And, like a true copper, he couldn’t let his curiosity lie idle. 

“And why’s that, then?”

The question seemed to shock the man. Emotion flashed across his features and his arm shook from the grip he had on his cane before he regained his composure.

“Let’s just say that, um, in my experience most cops couldn’t care less. Not about guys like me anyway.”

The niggling suspicion in the back of David’s mind became more like a blaring foghorn at that and he wanted to come straight out with it and ask the guy on the spot if he was gay but knew he couldn’t. That would be a definite way to make the guy clam up, and probably ask him to leave, and as a series of graphic crime-scene photos flashed through his mind, David had a sudden urge to know more about this man, and the crime he had called in about. Dillon fit the profile: gay, isolated, unbelievably pretty. Could he be a potential target for the killer? The only real difference David could see was Dillon’s prickly suspicion. The other men had been lured with apparent ease and had been described by their friends as trusting and happy-go-lucky sorts. Possibly Dillon had been the same once, but he certainly wasn’t right now. David was sure there was more to the story, but now was not the time to dredge it up. He’d just have to tread lightly and go by the book. Whatever Dillon Kelly’s history was with the police, maybe being professional would be enough to convince him that some cops could be trusted.

“If it weren’t for my leg, I might, um, might have been able to catch him,” Dillon said in low voice, averting his eyes as he limped past David to the small kitchen. “Once I would’ve.”

“I’m impressed you tried on a night like this,” David offered as he followed him further in to the cabin.

“Yeah, um, it was pretty stupid actually. I had a moment of sanity and realised I wouldn’t know what to do if I caught the guy.” He forced a laugh that died when it was barely past his lips.

David watched as the man lowered himself carefully on to a chair, his jaw tight with pain, yet so finely sculpted it set David’s heart to skipping again. No bloke had a right to be so attractive, he mused as he watched the movement of Dillon’s arm muscles as they supported his weight, but shook himself free of it when those dark, wary, eyes looked back at him and then flickering to the one other chair available. David took the cue and sat and tried to keep his mind on the job at hand.

“So what happened?” The wary look was back and David wondered if the bloke was actually going to snap at him before he realised the possible misunderstanding. “I mean tonight, with the break-in. You said it was a man?”

“He had a man’s build. Tall. Broad shoulders. Black hoodie. Um. I couldn’t see his face.” His words were short and clipped once again, but the gentleness was still there beneath. It was the subtle shaking of his hands, one still on the handle of the cane, the other scrunched tightly in his track pants just above his knee, which gave away that the break-in had really rattled him. “I, um, was reading a book upstairs, um, I was a vet’s assistant... before I came here. And there’s a whole shelf of books about animals native to the area. Especially birds. I like birds. I thought, um, I thought, when I moved here, it could be a new hobby, you know, bird watching or something.”

David knew not to interrupt. People usually had to back up and talk about safe things before they were able to deal with the actual crime. He nodded to let the man know that he was listening and that he understood but Dillon didn’t continue the story. He turned his head up to stare at the ceiling instead, eyes blinking rapidly and lips pressed together in a thin, pale line.

“Would you like a cup of tea, Mr. Kelly? Or a coffee?” He phrased it gently but the guy went immediately stiff again and leant back from David as far as his chair would allow.

“Nah, I’m fine. I don’t... I don’t need anything, thanks.”

Dillon Kelly really didn’t trust him but David tried not to take it personally. He’d seen it before in people who’d had bad experiences with the police. He’d seen it a whole lot when he’d first started investigating the disappearances in Sydney. The gay community had an unfortunate history with the police and sometimes David found it hard being the man straddling that line, acting as go-between. Dillon’s voice had a definite Adelaide roundness to it and David was all too aware of the way some coppers in that city chose to cover up crimes which should by rights have been written up as hate crimes and gay bashings. When the first two men had gone missing from the city’s parklands an attempt had been made to hush the whole thing up, until someone had sent an email his way, in time for a third body to turn up in the northern suburbs, strangled and dumped in a river. He’d flown south only to be informed that a fourth dead man had turned up, also strangled, in a town half an hour beyond the outer suburbs. The fifth had washed up a month later on Port Evans’ beach, and the sixth had been discovered in the rubble of the town’s old drive-in cinema only two days after that. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep the whole thing quiet, to claim that the deaths had been accidents, but that was the story they’d gone with, to keep the town from falling to panic, and within hours it had been agreed that David would transfer to their country branch and hopefully catch up with the bastard before he managed to kill again. So far they’d had no luck but he wasn’t about to give up.

“Have you been living here long then?” David asked with another grin, trying to steer the conversation back in to lighter waters.

“A little while,” Dillon hedged, looking at him sideways, but David suddenly felt determined to win the guy over.

“Seen any of the wildlife yet? I mean, other than in books?”

“A bit,” Dillon replied cautiously, though his shoulders had begun to relax again. “Not as much as I’d like.”

“I used to be mad keen on animals when I was young,” David told him truthfully, feeling a spark of his old enthusiasm as he wracked his brain for any information that might be useful. “Koalas, wallabies, and those tiny, little, hoppy guys, you know the ones? They look like mice but are really marsupials?”

“Bilbies? Possibly?” Dillon replied with a flickering smile and David grinned and clapped his hands.

“Yeah, that’s the ones. Bilbies! There was a couple at the zoo and they were my absolute favourite things. My mum always wanted me to look at the tigers and elephants but I just wanted to watch the bilbies.” He chuckled at the fondness of the memory and glanced over to see that Dillon was sitting more comfortably than before and still had that whisper of a grin playing about his lips. It seemed a terrible shame to take it from him, to tear away the tiny slice of camaraderie he’d been able to build, but he was on duty, and he had a job to do, even if neither of them were very happy about it. “So. You were looking at the books. And you heard a noise?”

He saw Dillon shiver and hated the violence of it. The guy didn’t have enough body fat and David worried that another shake like that and his bones would jangle all out of place. He had some muscle, the lean kind that came from working his body hard, and probably harder than he aught, though that was only a hunch, but there was little fat on him. The man’s arms were stronger, more muscled, and David supposed that was a bonus when dealing with a bum leg and whatever else was causing him such pain.

“I thought maybe it was, um, it was nothing,” Dillon muttered, his eyes wandering to the half closed door to his bedroom. “Thought maybe it was a possum, um, and went barging in, hoping it was just that but...”

Dave nodded and took out his notepad to jot down a few of the details. “And was anything taken?”

He watched as Dillon blinked, his mouth opening and shutting again as if the sound had been muted before he finally seemed to pull himself together. 

“I don’t actually know. I didn’t check. He went out through the window, and he definitely, um, definitely had something with him. I went after him through the kitchen and, um, realised I was a bloody idiot for trying to run, let alone barefoot in the rain, came back here, called your lot and then...”

He was blinking again and David reached forward to give his shoulder a squeeze. He wanted to do more but didn’t want to come across as inappropriate, even if his instincts were screaming at him to just give the man a hug. It was one of the hardest parts of his job but there were rules, and detectives did not hug the people they were interviewing.

“It’s alright, mate,” he said softly. “It’s alright to be shaken.”

Dillon nodded and pursed his lips and David stood up quickly, before he had to see the man cry, and crossed to the sink. There was a glass on the draining board and he took his time drying it and filling it from the tap before making his way back to the table, where Dillon was wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He accepted the drink silently and took a long swallow before clearing his throat to continue and David tried to focus on his notes and not the droplet of water that had escaped from the corner of the man’s lips and trickled down his pale neck to pool in the dip of his collarbone. He wasn’t usually distracted by men whilst on the job, whether he thought they might be gay or not, but Dillon seemed to be harder to ignore and so he pushed on with his questions a little more quickly than he normally would have.

“So you say he was in your bedroom?” he asked, kicking himself when the bluntness of his tone made the other man startle.

“Yeah,” Dillon answered. “Um. He’d been through all my drawers and the boxes I’d stashed in the cupboard. I’ve got too much stuff,” he shrugged apologetically. “I moved in here and realised I had, I had, um, no where to put most of it and just decided not to unpack. Stuck the boxes in the cupboard. I don’t even remember half of what’s in them.”

“So you don’t know if anything was taken?” David knew he was pushing. He knew he needed to back off a bit, but his brain was whirring too fast, trying to pull together clues and pieces of information that he couldn’t quite make sense of even though he knew they were vitally important.

“He had something wrapped in a, um, a t-shirt or cloth or something,” Dillon replied, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “I haven’t checked the room. He took something. I just don’t know what. I’ll, um, I’ll go look now, I guess.”

He started to stand, his face contorting as he struggled with his leg, and the policeman in David’s head finally snapped back in to gear and back in to control.

“No, sit,” he told him. “I have to go over the crime scene first.”

“But it must be gone midnight.”

David gave him an apologetic grin but knew it was best to get on with it as soon as possible. If there was a possible link between this break-in and the murders he needed to know. “Look, I saw another little place like yours down the street a way. Do you know the owners maybe? Is there someone you could stay with?”

He sighed as the guy shook his head but really he’d expected as much. Dillon Kelly didn’t seem to fit in with what he’d seen of the town so far.

“It’s a holiday place. It’s been empty as long as I’ve been here. Sorry.”

On his drive out to the cabin, he had noticed that the houses were pretty far apart. In the town proper the spacing was fairly average, though still more than he was used to after growing up in Sydney, but Dillon’s tiny house was right on the outskirts. The block it sat on was large and scrubby and he’d seen signs that advertised a national park, which he guessed was the dark wall of trees at the end of the property. Isolated didn’t even begin to cover it and given the state the guy was in, it wouldn’t be good for him to be alone tonight. 

“Is there a friend you can call?”

“Nobody I’d want, want to wake up in the middle of the night.” His gaze rested on David for a moment, long enough to make David feel just the wrong side of warm and too aware of his body’s reaction to such an intense stare. Dillon still looked like he wasn’t sure David could be trusted. “I appreciate your concern about me, but I can take care of myself.”

“Alright,” David told him, “it’s entirely up to you. I do need to process the scene though, sorry. I’ll just get my kit out of the car.”

It wouldn’t take long at all to gather evidence from the scene, but David figured he could stretch it out. Even if Dillon would never admit it, it was obvious that he was on edge emotionally. Since David couldn’t talk him into calling a friend, he figured he’d stick around until the guy at least looked more stable. He stood up from the table and glanced down at Dillon again, hoping to give him a reassuring smile. Instead chill ran down his spine that had nothing to do with how attractive the man was. Dillon just seemed too much like the other victims. There was a chance, he thought as he headed toward the door, that this break-in wasn’t as straightforward as it seemed. Perhaps Dillon Kelly was the lead they’d been looking for.

“If it’s alright with you, I might just check the perimeter of the house while I’m out there. The thief could’ve dropped something, or left a clue to his identity that could prove invaluable.”

“Sure,” Dillon nodded; his eyes fixed doggedly on the water glass in front of him, his sculpted face pale and closed. “You do what you need to do.”

*

The yellow light from the porch cast a shaking light through the rain as Officer Sharma trudged slowly and methodically around the house. Dillon watched from the kitchen window, leaning against the sink and gripping the glass of water the officer had given him, shivering at the thought of how cold the man must be. The acrid taste of his pain meds was stuck to his tongue and he took another sip of water, knowing it wouldn’t really help. He didn’t expect anything would help. The cop wasn’t going to find anything; they both knew it. He was out there, in the rain, his thick curls dripping water in to his eyes, purely to make Dillon feel better.

He’d felt something close to relief when he’d seen Officer Sharma at his door with his reassuring dark eyes and that bright smile beneath his scruffy, black stubble. The feeling had increased when he’d learned the guy wasn’t a member of the local department, who all seemed to be such stereotypical country cops but even so he wasn’t about to drop his guard. A stranger was still a stranger, and a cop was still a cop. But he did feel better for having made the call.

He’d been surprised at how emotional he’d become though, when recounting the break-in. He had never used to be the sort of person to cry in front of others but being questioned by the police again, even when the situation was entirely different from the last time, had overwhelmed him. It was just another way he’d changed over the last year and a half, and not for the better, though there wasn’t much he could do about it. He took a final sip of water and set the glass on the counter, wishing the ache in his leg would let up just for a while.

Outside in the rain Sharma stepped away from the house and out of the light, until all Dillon could make out was his silhouette. He wasn’t overly tall or muscular, more compact, though Dillon had the feeling the guy could hold his own easily in a fight, and he moved with a surety that Dillon envied. He watched as the officer strode back into the light and caught a flash of his glossy black hair as he turned his face toward the cabin, and shivered at the focused look on his face. His exceptionally handsome face, Dillon finally admitted to himself as he watched the man scour the area for clues.

Dillon shrank back from the window and headed toward the bedroom, he didn’t want to start perving on the cop who’d come in response to his call, even if the man were good looking and kind. He had more sense than that, not to mention pride. The bedroom door creaked as he pushed it open and he squared his shoulders against the urge to run in the opposite direction and cower behind the couch. The panic was back, which didn’t make sense. The thief was gone and he had a police officer in his back yard. It was his bedroom, his space, his property, but it felt contaminated somehow, like even the air he was breathing had been sullied by the intruder’s presence.

He knew enough not to touch anything. He’d go through the drawers and cupboard later to see if anything was missing, and frankly, he didn’t want to touch anything, but he needed to see it again, upsetting as it was. He needed to prove to himself that it was real. Seeing the rainbow flag he’d hung on the wall lying crumpled on the floor and torn sent a stab of pain to his heart, but worse than that was the empty hook where a photo from his first pride march had hung, a reminder of one of his most precious memories. He scanned the floor desperately for it, but it was nowhere to be seen, and in an instant the tears had returned to taunt him and prick at his eyes.

Dillon suddenly felt light-headed as the room began to shift out of focus in front of his eyes and his throat began to tighten, but scowled at his body’s weakness and tried to clear his head with a shake. He’d survived a lifetime of bullying, had pulled himself out of a river with his damned foot in his hand. He had lived through surgeries and interrogations and rehab. He could handle this. 

Then he saw the small, carved, wooden box that he used for his keepsakes, open and thrown onto the bed, and his stomach twisted until he felt sick. His legs shook even more than usual as he stepped towards it. The box was empty. His ring, the one Sam had given him as a promise of love, was gone.

“Mr. Kelly?” He heard Officer Sharma’s voice behind him but it seemed to come from far away. “Mr. Kelly, it’s just me, David, and I’m just coming into the house.” Dillon’s hand hovered over the empty box but he couldn’t bring himself to actually reach out and pick it up. Too many things would hurt too much if he tried to do that, physically and emotionally. “Mr. Kelly? Dillon?”

Footsteps pounded on the wood floor and Dillon turned, too fast for his tired muscles, to see the man standing in the doorway. The warm purr of his voice was somehow calming and Dillon let out the breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding, hating the way his chest was heaving and the way his ribs seemed to be rattling around like there was nothing holding him together. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, not entirely sure what he was apologising for, except that he probably should have let the officer check the room over before he went back in. 

David gave him a questioning look in return. “I knocked, but I was afraid that-”

Dillon opened his mouth to speak again, to let him know what was missing, to explain properly what had happened. Instead he bent forward, crumpling, his cane sliding out of reach to clatter on the floor too loudly in the small, quiet room that was suddenly spinning and lurching with sickening speed. He saw Sharma rush toward him as his knees buckled and feared the man wouldn’t be fast enough, but strong hands caught him before he hit the wooden floor and guided him toward the bed with a lightness that Dillon hadn’t expected. He tried to pull himself together, to stop the tears that were now tumbling forth and dripping from his nose, but it seemed impossible. Instead he found himself leaning more of his weight on the officer, hating that he couldn’t even stand on his own two feet, hating more that the stranger next to him could feel how badly he was shaking.

Gradually he became aware of the man’s hand as it rubbed gentle circles against his back, the simple action warming his skin and easing the shaking with more success than the entire strength of Dillon’s will. It felt nice, a little too nice, and Dillon shifted himself away, feeling the other man move too, until there was a small distance between them and he could look at the guy properly. There seemed to be no judgement in Officer Sharma’s dark, wide eyes, only concern, but it made Dillon suspicious. He’d expected mockery or disdain, not compassion.

“I’m... I’m, um, really sorry,” he said through clenched teeth, turning to look at his hands. “I’m not like this. I didn’t used to be like this, I swear.”

“Reaction to a home invasion takes a lot of people by surprise,” the officer replied simply, shifting his weight carefully on the unmade bed to try and catch Dillon’s eye. “It’s totally normal, really.”

Dillon straightened his spine and squared his shoulders, but his stomach was still doing somersaults and the gesture seemed futile from where he sat on the bed. He didn’t want pity any more than he wanted scorn; even if it seemed to be the one constant in his life these days. He attempted to straighten his shoulders again and blinked away the last of the tears, wiping his nose on his wrist as he tried to prove he wasn’t some sniveling, useless, weakling. 

“There was a photograph in a frame... that’s gone, and, um, a… piece of jewelry. A ring. Neither was worth much.” 

They had been priceless to him but he wasn’t about to let his emotions get the better of him again by admitting that. The ring was one of the few things he had left to remember Sam by, the photo too come to think, and his heart ached so badly it even eclipsed the ache of his leg as the old emotions bubbled to the surface, but he clamped down on them angrily before they could make him look an idiot all over again.

“You really need to let me process the scene, alright mate?” David told him quietly, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll dust the area where you kept your jewelry and the windowsill and then take a few photos, okay?” Leaning close, he gave Dillon a look that was too familiar, and too pitying. “You might want to go in the other room.”

“No, I... want to help. It’s my home, it’s my stuff.” He blinked rapidly, hating the tightness that had returned to his throat. 

David just gave him a look and walked to the door of the bedroom, returning with a navy brief case that he lay down on the bed. Dillon watched as he clicked it open to reveal the police kit within before glancing back up at the officer who, he realised with a jolt, was looking right at him.

“Tomorrow you can come back in here,” Sharma said, his voice still gentle but with a firmness that Dillon figured didn’t broach argument often. “But honestly, I’d rather you did so with a friend. You can look and see if there’s anything else missing then. Make me a list with a description of each item. But right now, you need to head out to the couch and rest. You’ll be no use at all if you overdo things.” He looked pointedly at Dillon’s leg at that and Dillon realised that he’d been clutching it tightly, barely aware of what he was doing. 

Shame washed over him as he nodded, and the emotion doubled in size when Sharma had to pass him his cane and help him to his feet. If he was completely honest with himself he’d probably already overdone things, chasing after the thief like the idiot he was, but he didn’t tell Officer Sharma that and didn’t speak at all until he was in the doorway and there was a safe distance between them.

“Sorry. This is my first robbery. You’ve probably done thousands of them.”

Officer Sharma lifted a camera out of the case and turned to look at him with an expression Dillon didn’t recognise. “You’re going to be all right, Mr. Kelly.”

Dillon nodded. He couldn’t be bothered to disagree. “I’ll wait in the lounge room.”

For a while after that Dillon sat on the couch listening to the officer work, determined to stay awake. He’d embarrassed himself enough for one night without falling asleep and drooling down his chin, but it was a fight he could feel himself losing. Sharma seemed to be taking a long time to do a seemingly simple job and it made Dillon suspicious. Then again, most things made him suspicious, whether he wanted them to or not. It would definitely be a bad idea to fall asleep with a stranger in the house he felt firmly, no matter how decent a bloke he seemed.

He stirred sometime later when a blanket was settled over him, realising that he must have fallen asleep after all. His eyes felt too heavy to open and he pulled the blanket up over his shoulder and drifted off again. Later still Officer Sharma’s voice drifted in to his mind, warm and soft, and Dillon felt the reassuring hand on his shoulder again and knew he was safe, even though his eyes still refused to open.

“Mr. Kelly, I’m all done now,” the man murmured. “You need to lock the door behind me. I’ll wait outside until I hear the bolt click, alright?”

He heard the door swing open and ease shut and then finally, with a great deal of effort, forced his eyes to open and survey the room blearily. He was alone and the cabin was silent. Still groggy from sleep he fumbled with his cane and rose to his feet with a grimace before limping across the floor to flip the deadlock. His hip was on fire, the result of falling asleep sitting up on the couch, and he swore under his breath at the heavy throb of it as he leant against the door, listening to Officer Sharma’s footsteps fading as he crossed the porch. He checked the time on the microwave before heading back to the couch and attempting to arrange himself in a more comfortable position. It was nearly three a.m.

Outside on the road the officer’s car started up and Dillon pulled the blanket around himself and closed his eyes tightly. The panic was back and he felt ill. If he threw up on the couch, he wondered, would it stain? Or would he be able to get it dry-cleaned somewhere in the town? It had come with the house and he didn’t want to leave the place looking worse than when he’d arrived, not when he was paying such minimal rent. A tear slipped past his guard and trickled down his cheek to catch in the patchy stubble of his chin but he didn’t bother to wipe it away. He tried to breath deep, calming breaths, but they turned in to sobs and he resorted to grinding his teeth together until his jaw ached just to keep the tears at bay. God, he felt useless. And it wasn’t just the leg, it was everything, it was his mind. Once he’d been the calm, quiet, organised one, the guy that could be trusted to keep his head in a crisis. Now he was a wreck, and it was doubly embarrassing that his latest melt down had been witnessed by one of the few people in town who had shown him any kindness. It also really didn’t help that the guy was a looker, not to mention a flirt. And Dillon had spent the night giving him the stink eye. His life was such a mess. 

Falling back to sleep turned out to be near impossible and a few hours later, just as he finally slipped from a light doze and into proper sleep, his mobile phone buzzed and snapped him back in to wakefulness. Even though it was on the coffee table by the couch he didn’t pick up until after the fifth ring and did so was a deep scowl. It was too early for phone calls surely.

“What?” he answered croakily, rubbing at his leg and blinking at the grey morning light shining through the crack in the curtains.

“Oh, Love, were you asleep?” Lizzy’s voice bounced loudly through the speaker and Dillon winced. “Don’t tell me you forgot!”

“Forgot what?” As he sat up the memory of the break-in made him shiver but his mind was otherwise blank and his friend tutted at him down the line in response to his vague response. 

“Your second date with Craig Gillman, of course! Breakfast at the Mainstreet Cafe at eight-thirty. You said he seemed nice.”

“I said, um...” Dillon blinked, trying to focus his mind. “I said he was alright, yeah.” 

He winced as Lizzy tutted at him again but wasn’t awake enough to say anything back at her. He’d agreed to let Lizzy create his profile on the dating site, safe in the knowledge that there would be absolutely no matches in his area. He’d moved out to the country for a reason after all, but he’d been wrong and the messages from people wanting to meet up had been instantly distressing. Then Craig had turned up and actual dates were involved, and Dillon hadn’t been so sure it was a good idea but hadn’t known how to back out of it. Lizzy was quiet for a moment before speaking, this time a lot more softly than before.

“You okay, Dill?”

“Um...” He wanted to tell her about the break in, knew it was the sensible, grown-up, thing to do, but it was too hard. Lizzy was his friend but they weren’t exactly close, hadn’t spoken to each other for years, in fact, before Dillon had decided he needed to get away from his life and had stumbled across her ad for the ‘eco-cabins’.

“Do you like Craig?” she asked in a tone that seemed casual, though Dillon knew better. He sighed. “He seems alright, Liz, but I just... I don’t think I’m ready. It’s um, it’s just too soon I think.”

He gathered the blanket around his shoulders as his brain was flooded with memories that he just didn’t want to deal with. Lizzy, however, wasn’t about to let it go quietly. 

“You only had one date, and you said you left early. You’ve got to give the whole dating thing more of a chance,” she urged him, her tone softening. “It’s been over a year, Love, you have to at least try.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dillon whispered, not trusting his voice when he could feel the telltale prickle behind his eyes. “And it’s not that. It’s just... I was robbed last night.”

“Oh my god! Dill! Are you okay? Were you hurt? Oh, Love! Did you call the cops? Please tell me you called them, Dillon, seriously. I know they can be dicks but you have to report this stuff and break-ins are something they actually know how to do. Or I can call them for you. It’s my property so I can be the one to report it if that’d make you feel better. I’m sorry, Love. Why didn’t you say straight away? I could’ve... I don’t know, been nicer...”

Dillon waited for her words to peter out because experience had taught him it was easier than trying to talk over her and he had to smile at her concern.

“I did call the police, Liz, I promise. And I’m not hurt.” The pain that shot up his leg to his hip as he tried to stand made him rethink that statement. “At least no more than usual.”

“God, you didn’t do anything stupid did you, Dill? You didn’t try to run after the bastard, did you? Dill? Dillon!” Dillon just grunted as he concentrated on walking the short distance from the couch to the bedroom but Lizzy let out a groan of frustration. “You did, didn’t you? You tried to tackle an intruder. What was your plan? Beat him into submission with your stick? Dill, you idiot. And why am I only finding out about this now?”

“It was late. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Dillon stood in the doorway to his bedroom, taking in the scattered clothes, empty boxes and the trashed flag still on the floor. He reached out for it but stopped, an invisible something holding him back. Officer Sharma had said not to do this alone.

“You idiot,” Lizzy told him lovingly. “I would’ve come. It’s a twenty-minute drive at most. You should have called.” Lizzy fell silent with a huff, but Dillon could think of nothing useful to say. 

“Sorry, Liz,” he whispered. “I know you would’ve.”

Lizzy had already given him a place to stay at half the rent she usually asked, he couldn’t have put her to the added trouble, no matter what she said. He looked down again at the fallen flag, then up at where it was supposed to be, at the bare wall where the photograph had hung. Why would anyone steal a photo, unless their goal was to make him even more miserable than he was already? 

“Craig’ll understand if you need to cancel,” Lizzy said eventually. “Seriously, Dill, you’ve had a shocker. D’you have his mobile number?”

Dillon gripped the handle of his cane so hard it started to hurt as he backed away from the bedroom. He couldn’t stay here... not alone.

“Actually, I think I need to get out for a bit,” Dillon said hurriedly. “I’ll go on the date. It’ll get my mind off of things.” 

“Are you sure?”

“I am. Um... I am.” Anything to get away from being reminded of the break-in, he thought. Even Craig Gillman was preferable a day spent alone with his thoughts. 

“Alright,” Lizzy agreed kindly. “I’ll meet you right after your breakfast then. And I’ll stay with you as long as you need.”

Dillon hobbled to the kitchen and leaned against the sink, so he didn’t have to look into the bedroom.

“You don’t need to do that, Liz,” he lied. “I’ll be okay.”

“No, Love, I know you,” Lizzy told him dryly. “Quit trying to do everything yourself. We’ll get through this and I’ll get some extra locks put on the cabin too. But you’ve got to do something for me.”

Dillon pressed the phone against his ear, his suspicion piqued. “And what’s that exactly?”

“I know you’re not keen on the whole online dating thing. I get it. But I’m doing it because I love you and don’t want you to be alone. You need to get back out there, get your confidence back before you turn in to a hermit. For me, could you be a little more open-minded about Craig? There isn’t a lot of choice out here in the sticks. I just want to see you happy, Love.”

Dillon’s jaw tightened but he swallowed the anger that was building. Lizzy meant well. Just like his friends in Adelaide who’d tried to coax him back out on the dating circuit had meant well. They all seemed to have his best interests at heart; he just couldn’t picture himself in a relationship, not anymore. 

“That ship’s sailed, I reckon, Liz. Think I’ll just stay here forever and become the local witch.”

Lizzy didn’t laugh like he’d expected. Instead, when she spoke, her voice was rough with emotion. “There’s more than just one soul-mate out there for each of us, Love. Seriously. What happened to you and Sam was... horrible,” her voice hitched and Dillon felt the tears welling in his own eyes before he could force them back. “But you still deserve to be happy. You still deserve love.”

Dillon nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and Lizzy gave him another promise to meet him after his date before she said goodbye, and then Dillon was alone again, left with the sorry task of making himself look presentable for his date with Craig Gillman. Because he was in a hurry, and a shower seemed like too much of an effort, he opted for pulling his hair back in a bun rather than trying to style or straighten it. The bonus of that particular look was that it would hopefully send Craig the message that he hadn’t spent hours fussing over his appearance. For Lizzy’s sake he would go on this second date, but he wasn’t going to put any extra effort in, because he really didn’t want to give the guy any false hopes.

Once he was out on the front porch Dillon pulled out his keys and stared at them. A lot of people around here didn’t bother to lock up their homes unless they were going away for more than a day, but now he knew he was going to have to lock up properly all the time. The anxiety was there in his head, eating at him and dissolving the confidence he’d been building up so slowly over the last six months. 

The renewed fear made his hands clammy as he fumbled with the key. What if the thief came back? He shivered but locked the door and then began the slow, arduous walk toward the bus stop at the end of the road. At this rate he really would have to become a hermit. Maybe there were some caves up in the hills he could look at. He’d have to ask Lizzy when he saw her after breakfast.


	2. Chapter 2

David woke with a jolt as the banging on his door intensified. He’d only managed a couple of hour’s sleep and the thin motel mattress hadn’t helped matters at all. He needed to find somewhere else to stay. He didn’t care if he had to pay for it out of his own money, if the department were too cheap, if he stayed in this dump of a motel any longer he’d never solve the damned case. Still bleary eyed, he heaved himself out of bed and stumbled to the door, muttering curses at whoever was on the other side as he went, knowing already who it would be.

“Rise and shine, city boy!” Detective Finlay said cheerfully, flashing a toothy smile. “We got work to do.”

David shook his head, trying to clear the fog of sleep from his brain. He needed coffee and a hot shower and someone to hold him back from smacking the cheerful grin off Finlay’s face. He turned his back on her instead and headed back to his rumpled bed, sitting down heavily and rubbing at his eyes with his hands until the grit began to clear. 

Finlay was rabbiting on about how the particular motel the department had chosen to put him up in was the cheapest, and worst, in town, and David could well believe it, but he wasn’t really listening to what she was saying. His thoughts had turned, almost immediately, to Dillon Kelly, and whether or not he’d made it through the night okay. He hadn’t met anyone quite like him before - such a striking mixture of vulnerability and gentleness on the one hand and an independent, to hell with the world, ready to fight, attitude on the other. It made David smile just thinking about him, the way his chin had jutted out defiantly, the way he’d been so obviously in pain but had run off after the intruder anyway, the way he’d all but collapsed in to David’s arms at the realisation that someone had destroyed his privacy and taken what David guessed were some pretty personal items. And that was the most worrying part. Because Dillon’s laptop had been left untouched on the bed. The thief, whoever he was, had chosen to take a photograph and some jewelry, and to tear down the guy’s pride flag. David hadn’t missed that detail, which just added to his suspicion that Dillon was a possible target and that the intruder was actually the serial killer he’d come to town to find. 

His stomach growled but Finlay was still talking and David realised he hadn’t heard a word of it.

“Back up a bit,” he said with as much authority as he could muster on so little sleep. “Say that again.”

“I said we’ve got work to do. One of your suspects is in town; I just heard it on the radio. We’ve got surveillance in twenty minutes. Nice PJ’s by the way, you look a right heart throb in those.” 

Finlay rocked back on her heels and grinned. She looked to David like a farmer who’d wandered in to the police station by mistake and decided to just stay put, but she was the only detective who had willingly volunteered to join David on the case. So far she’d proved to be an expert on the town and one of David’s only allies, if she’d been anything less he would have been a lot less polite about being woken so abruptly and afforded so little dignity. There was a general feeling at the Port Evans station that a possible serial killer targeting gay men wasn’t something the local force wanted to get involved in. As far as they knew, David had been called in to assist Finlay and they saw no reason to offer their assistance. The duty sergeant had even suggested it was all a wild goose chase, whilst insinuating that the men really deserved what they got for being gay in the first place. David knew the resistance would be ongoing and that he should be grateful that Finlay, one of the only detectives in the district, had been so keen to take on the case, but that didn’t make him any less tired, or Finlay’s constant movement any easier to deal with. She was practically bouncing from foot to foot as she watched him slowly wake up and remember how to function.

“What time is it?”

“Nearly eight,” Finlay responded with another grin, but before David could get really angry she held out a brown paper bag like a peace offering. “I brought breakfast: ham and cheese toasties. Whadda’ya reckon? You coming with?”

The greasy smell of the toasties immediately made David’s mouth water and he grabbed the bag from Finlay’s hand with a grunt of thanks.

“Where’s the coffee?”

Finlay rolled her eyes. “It’s coming, Sharma. Trust me, we’re going somewhere with decent coffee, unless you want me to make you motel room instant?”

She made a face and David glared at her in return. She’d been teasing him about his apparent snobbery when it came to coffee since he’d arrived but he wasn’t about to rise to it. 

“Which suspect?” he asked when he’d finished the first toasted sandwich and started on the second.

“Craig Gillman,” she replied, switching gears to report back to him the information she’d been given. “He’s just arrived in town and has a breakfast meeting at eight thirty a.m. at Mainstreet Cafe apparently. I just got wind of it now. Didn’t want to miss the opportunity.”

Over the last week David had managed to put together a list of possible suspects: three men who had ties to both Adelaide and the area around Port Evans and also had a history of homophobia or violence. It wasn’t a lot to go on but it was all they had and Finlay was right, if Gillman was in town they needed to keep a close eye on him, and that meant getting a move on if they were going to make it to the cafe by eight thirty. He wolfed down the last of the cheese toasties before dressing hurriedly. He had wanted to shave properly and look presentable in order to make a good impression on the locals, but settled for splash of water and quick scrub of his face with his hands. Tracking down this killer was more important than his appearance.

He ignored the grin on Finlay’s face as she watched him dress and search for his shoes and a handful of minutes later they were in the car and on their way. He tuned out most of Finlay’s one-sided conversation in favour of looking out the window and taking in the quaint, dusty streets of Port Evans, wondering idly what it must be like to live in a small town where most people knew one another and generally rubbed along together well enough. He wondered how much a killer would stick out or blend in, in such an environment. But mostly he wondered what could have happened to a young man like Dillon Kelly to make him move to the outskirts of a town like this one when it obviously wasn’t his natural habitat. It all centered around his leg, David reckoned, and any idiot could see how much pain it was causing him, how fresh the trauma was. 

David was curious and he’d never been much good at reigning in his curiosity, or his nosiness, as his mum called it. She hadn’t been well pleased when he’d told her he was moving south for a few months. As far as she was concerned he was too old, at thirty-three, to be chasing bad guys, and should have settled down with a nice man and a nice desk job by now. But David had never been much good at dating, and the two men his sisters had attempted to set him up with in the last year had been nice enough, but not his type. His sisters had grilled him for hours for any clue as to what his type actually was, but David hadn’t been able to give them much. He didn’t really know himself, except maybe, a stubborn jaw, lean body, strong arms, and eyes like the ocean at night when he cried, dark and troubled and beautiful.

David shook his head to banish the thought. Dillon was a possible target, and victim of a break-and-enter. He was definitely not a potential love interest.

“What d’you mean, no?” Finlay asked suddenly, and David realised the woman must have misunderstood his gesture as being in response to what she was talking about. “Well I call it luck, anyway. We wouldn’t’ve known Gillman was in town if he hadn’t bumped in to one of the regular officers by chance and let slip he was heading to a meeting. Anyway, we’re here now. And they do the best coffee in town; you’re bound to like it. They’ve got the fanciest machine for it, way better than the one at the servo. It’s right up your street I reckon, city boy.”

David let the comment slide but didn’t bother with a reply. It was a piece of luck that Gillman had so casually announced his plans to one of the local cops and David wondered whether it was a sign that the man was getting cocky, or that he wasn’t actually the one they were looking for. He had no chance of figuring anything out without at least two cups of coffee inside him, he decided, and pushed open the cafe door and grinned at the smell of properly roasted beans. He clocked Gillman immediately, sitting in the corner facing the door, but didn’t approach. He needed to act casual, and he needed coffee. By the time he’d placed his drink order and found a table that gave them a good view of the whole place another man had joined Gillman, sitting with his back to them, and David had settled in for a good, long mull of the facts.

*

Dillon stared at the plate of beans, eggs and sausages in front of him and wondered how rude it would be if he just didn’t eat any of it. It was a weekday morning, so the restaurant wasn’t very busy yet, though Dillon knew it would be full and noisy by lunchtime. It was one of the reasons he’d agreed to breakfast over any other meal, to avoid too much attention from the locals, but they still didn’t have the place to themselves.

Two old men sat at the counter, sipping coffee, still dressed in fisherman’s waders, fresh from the wharfs. A mum with two small children occupied one of the few booths, staring in to space as her kids squabbled over her smart phone, and in the corner was a man with a newspaper, sitting opposite a strong, blonde, freckled woman, the kind that seemed to keep small towns like Port Evans running.

Craig laughed about something he’d just said, something about one of the accounts he handled. Dillon tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. He didn’t understand the guy’s job. He lived in down the city but traveled all over the region for work, apparently, selling shipping machinery or accessories, or something. His job involved driving across the state and talking to shipping companies and wharf managers. A breakfast date was a little strange, but he was only in town for a few hours, so they’d decided to get together.

Getting out of the house had been a good idea, Dillon thought. If nothing else, the date was taking his mind off the robbery, but it had been far from eventful otherwise. Craig was confident and suave, which Dillon supposed came in handy for his job, there just wasn’t a spark between them.

“I was thinking, Dillon,” Craig grinned, leaning on the table and pointing his fork in Dillon’s direction. “I’m going to be traveling through town again on Sunday. I won’t get in until the late afternoon. How about I take you out for dinner? We’ll go Chinese, ‘The Jade Emperor’ down the street does a mean honey chicken.” He leaned a little closer, looking up at Dillon with his pale blue eyes. “Take things up a notch?”

Dillon chewed his lip as he attempted to stall for time. He had sort of promised Lizzy he would make an effort with Craig but his chest felt tight at the mere thought of a formal evening date, of being alone with someone at night, not to mention the thought of ‘taking things up a notch’. It made his feel rather ill. 

“This Sunday?” he asked lamely and watched as Craig sat back in his chair like it was now all settled.

“I have a client I’m meeting with on Monday so Sunday seems ideal, right?”

Behind him, the waitress asked the man with the newspaper what he wanted to eat and Dillon heard the rustle of the paper as it was set down. Dillon felt his heart flutter in a far more pleasing way when he heard the man order a large stack of pancakes and another coffee. He knew that voice, knew the warmth of it. Carefully, aiming for casual, he turned in his chair to see for sure.

Officer Sharma looked shocked when Dillon turned to face him but recovered after a moment and gave him a smile.

“Hello, Mr. Kelly. I heard this was a good spot for breakfast,” he mumbled, his voice a charming purr that made Dillon give a smile of his own.

“The best in town,” Dillon replied, feeling a genuine smile tug at his own lips for the first time that day.

“I didn’t recognise you before,” Sharma told him, honest warmth edging in to his voice as his smile deepened and white teeth flashed for a moment in the scruff of his short beard. “You know, with your hair...” he gestured vaguely.

“What? Not plastered to my head and dripping down my shoulders?” Dillon offered, beginning to warm to the gentle banter, but the woman sitting beside Sharma gave him an odd look and lifted her chin toward Sharma in some unspoken signal.

The smile fell from Sharma’s face and Dillon turned back around, his throat tightening, especially when he saw the strange look on Craig’s face as he sat chewing on a piece of toast like it had paid him an insult.

“Enjoying the sausages?” the man asked, “You’re not a vego are you?”

“No. They’re fine,” Dillon mumbled, wondering if the comment was some sort of jab, it certainly felt like one, but Dillon was aware that he was probably a little paranoid. 

Craig was a decent guy, he told himself, and had every right to be a bit annoyed that his date was half flirting with another guy. He tried to smile but it faded quickly and he filled his mouth with egg and beans to avoid talking any more. The knowing glance that had passed between Sharma and the woman he was with bothered him. He couldn’t pin point it, but something about it felt strange, conspiratorial. Was she Sharma’s girlfriend perhaps, or another police officer? Dillon wanted to know, to get to the bottom of it, but knew there was no polite way to ask.

Craig chatted on about his work, his house in Adelaide, apartment in Melbourne, beach house further down the coast. Dillon nodded along with the words and eventually Craig asked him what it was like to be a vet, and Dillon mumbled something about only being an assistant. He angled himself in his chair so that he could see Officer Sharma in his peripheral vision. Was it just a coincidence that they were both having breakfast in the same place, or was Sharma trying to keep an eye on him? He took a sip of his coffee. Any sense of trust he’d had for the officer was starting to ebb away, replaced by a tight ache of panic in his chest. He set his coffee mug firmly on the table. Why had he thought David Sharma would be different? A cop was a cop, and none of them really cared, not about people like Dillon.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

Craig didn’t look pleased at having to repeat himself, but he covered it with a grin that Dillon thought looked kind of smarmy and leaned in to Dillon’s space again as he spoke. 

“I said you seem a bit skittish. I’m guessing you haven’t done the whole dating thing in a while. Last time you mentioned you were new here, but you didn’t say how long you’d been in town. I’m just curious about what brought you here of all places. Do you have family here? Friends?”

Dillon tried to ignore the alarm bells going off in his head. Being suspicious of cops was fair enough but Craig was just trying to get to know him as a person and Dillon wasn’t making it easy for him. 

“No, nothing like that,” he shrugged. “I just, um, fancied a change, I guess.”

“Bad break up?”

The question seemed sincere and for a moment Dillon was tempted to give him the whole truth but then he heard the rustle of the newspaper behind him.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Something like that. Look, Craig, I gotta go. Is that cool?”

He stood awkwardly, shying away when Craig tried to help him. He didn’t want to attract unwanted attention and he didn’t want to lead the guy on when he still wasn’t sure he even wanted to be dating. And because he could feel David Sharma’s eyes on him as he limped out and didn’t like it one bit. He turned as he reached the door, expecting to see the guy once again engrossed in his paper. Instead their eyes locked and Dillon felt shaken to his core by what he saw. David Sharma, Officer Sharma, looked frightened, and Dillon couldn’t fathom why.

When they were outside the cafe Craig gave him another charming smile and Dillon did his best to respond in kind. 

“I’ll call you when I get in on Sunday. I’ll even pick you up so you don’t have to catch this town’s crappy bus. You live out in one of the cabins by the national park, right? Great. Seven o’clock on Sunday then”

Dillon nodded and shook the guy’s hand, unable to focus. His mind kept sliding back to his last glimpse of Sharma, and the fear he’d seen in the man’s dark eyes. He wished he knew what it meant.

*

David watched Dillon walk slowly past the cafe window, a deep frown etched in to his delicately sculpted features. He’d nearly choked on his coffee when he’d realised it was Dillon Kelly sitting with their prime suspect, and he’d only grown more anxious as the breakfast carried on. He scanned the police reports he’d hidden behind his newspaper, but there was nothing new there, and his brain wasn’t working well enough to give him any clues. An unsettled feeling in his gut wasn’t enough to go on, and he wasn’t the sort to just blindly follow his instincts anyway. The facts were the thing. Facts would lead them to the killer, he just had to keep his eyes and ears open, and his mind free from distractions. 

“Talk about boring,” Finlay piped up eventually, her own gaze following Gillman’s rental car as it disappeared from sight. “You know, I’ve seen him round but I’ve never really spoken to the guy. He doesn’t seem, you know? That type.”

David didn’t look up from the reports, but took in a deep breath to quell the emotions rising in his gut. “And what type is that, Finlay?”

“You know, queer. Gay. He just doesn’t seem the type.” Finlay shrugged, still looking out of the window.

David sighed and watched as it made Finlay jump. Well at least he had the detective’s attention, he supposed. He’d been through this so many times but it still grated. 

“He’s not, Finlay. At least, it’s unlikely. What he’s doing, if he’s our killer,” he clarified, trying to keep his voice low and even, whilst anger began to boil in his chest. “If he’s our killer, he’s putting on an act to try and lure his victims. The man we’re looking for will hide his hatred well. He’ll seem charming. He’ll pick out and focus on men who are most likely younger, who are weaker, and who are isolated. To everyone else he’ll seem like a really decent, straight as an arrow, bloke. Because bastards like that groom their supporters just as much as they groom their prey. We’re not looking for a gay predator here, Finlay. We’re looking for someone who’s preying on gay men. Now,” he said more sharply, looking up at the young detective, “we need to ask ourselves, does Craig Gillman seem like he could be that type?”

He’d been harsher than he probably needed to be. Finlay was young; she hadn’t had to deal with this sort of thing before. But there was no time for beating about the bush, no time for misunderstandings, or even latent, country town, homophobia. Finlay needed to know the facts.

“Yeah,” Finlay answered, her tone far more subdued than before. “Yeah, I reckon he could be, when you put it like that. And that guy he was with, Kelly, he fits the victim profile. He’s got to be the only gay guy in the town, I reckon.”

“Well,” David sat back and drained the last of his coffee. “I wouldn’t say that. Not now I’m here.”

He tried to hide his grin as he watched Finlay’s face go through the process of realisation. There was surprise, embarrassment, and alarm as she tried to think back to anything offensive she might have said, and then eventually, acceptance as she slotted the information in with everything else she knew about Detective David Sharma. Only when she seemed to have come to terms with the news that her superior was a gay man did David smile and begin gathering his papers and files from where he’d spread them across the table. 

“That’s why you’re on this case then, I guess?” she asked, eyebrows rising questioningly. “Because you’ve got a personal interest?”

“No,” Dave told her, his voice quiet and calm, but deadly serious. “I’m on this case because it needs solving before anyone else dies. And because I’m one of the best around. Now come on, country girl. We’ve got work to do.”


	3. Chapter 3

David drove along the track, hoping Dillon Kelly wouldn’t be out on his front porch, then feeling like a coward for having such a thought. He’d debated whether it was a sensible thing to do, renting out the neighbouring property, and even though he’d been able to justify it to himself, and to Finlay, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was doing the right thing for the wrong reasons. There was no sign of movement at Dillon’s, and no car, though David couldn’t recall seeing one the night before and wondered how the man had even managed to get in to the town centre that morning. He’d heard talk that Port Evans had a bus service, which was apparently quite new, but the stop was half a kilometer back from the property he was hoping to rent, which seemed a painfully long walk for someone with Dillon’s mobility issues. He wondered if there was a taxi service in town, and whether that might bring forth any new leads, but pushed that line of questioning to the back of his mind as he pulled in to the drive of the empty eco-cabin and caught sight of the owner coming around the side of the house. She gave him a wave and Dave returned it, exiting the car and jogging over to meet her by the front porch.

“Hi, I’m David, we spoke on the phone,” he said with a smile. He was supposed to be just a regular cop who’d transferred to the area and part of that cover was building up a friendly report with the locals, and a local who was also Dillon Kelly’s landlady could be a source of very useful information.

“Lizzy Elmer,” the woman replied as she shook his hand firmly. “Gotta say I was surprised to hear from you. I don’t get many folks wanting to rent these outside of holiday times. You staying in town long?”

David explained that he was new to town and needed somewhere decent to live while he settled in because the motor inn left a lot to be desired. Lizzy laughed at that and agreed wholeheartedly as she showed him inside the familiar little cabin. It was almost an exact copy of Dillon’s house and confirmed to David that the guy really hadn’t brought a lot with him when he’d decided he needed a change. 

“My partner and I have a couple of these little cabins around the place,” Lizzy told him as she walked him through the cozy space. “But we’re based on the other side of the national park, about half an hour away. These places all run on solar and I’ve checked everything’s working, and the water tank’s full, so it should be pretty smooth sailing, but if you run into trouble, just give us a call, day or night. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” David said, trying to seem casual as he looked out the kitchen window and down to the line of trees that marked the start of the bush-land. “Do I have any neighbours at the moment?” She narrowed her eyes at him and David wanted to kick himself as he tried to explain. “I’m just curious is all. You said you don’t get many people out here at this time of year.”

“Mmm,” she replied. “There’s one other tenant actually.” She paused, lips pursed and arms folded across her chest. Why was everyone so suspicious of him all of a sudden? He used to be good at fitting in with people and seeming gormless, but this woman wasn’t buying it. She reminded him of Dillon, with her eyes squinting at him, and he tried to seem like he wasn’t absolutely desperate to know what she knew. “What did you say you did for a living?”

“I didn’t,” David grinned. “I’m a police officer, just got transferred. So, you said I had a neighbour? Not the sort to be throwing loud parties or disturbing the peace I hope.”

He’d expected his lame attempt at humour to fall flat but Lizzy laughed and shook her head. She definitely knew Dillon then, because he definitely wasn’t the house party type, and her next answer was much friendlier.

“No, he’s quiet. No parties. But what about you? Are you on your own? No wife? Kids?” He shook his head. “Girlfriend?” He shook his head again and she looked thoughtful for a moment before giving him a searching look. “Boyfriend?”

“Not at the moment,” he confirmed and watched as a grin spread across the woman’s face. 

“Well, David, like I said, my partner and I are only a phone call away if you need anything. She and I run a reptile relocation business as well as these cabins, and a bit of maintenance in the park itself. It’s mostly rescuing snakes from peoples houses and cars,” she explained when David gave her a confused look. “I studied veterinary science in Adelaide with Dillon before I moved out here, it’s how we met. He’s pretty shaken by the way, so I don’t mind you keeping an eye on him, but don’t push it. He’s here to rest.”

David nodded. Not much got past Lizzy Elmer it seemed.

“You’re his friend then? Funny, last night he said he didn’t have anyone to call.”

Lizzy snorted at that and began to walk back toward the front door. David followed her and took the keys when she held them out for him. She didn’t seem keen on telling him too much, and while he admired her loyalty, it was also frustrating. He wanted to know more about the mysterious Dillon Kelly, not for any professional reason, he admitted to himself, but because he wanted to understand the man, and why he was hurting. And he wanted to help. 

“Dillon’s independent,” Lizzy told him with a roll of her eyes. “Always has been. To a fault. But he’s also an idiot sometimes. He should have called me. If... if he gets in trouble at all, if he’s not coping, I mean, you call me. And you catch the dickhead that broke in to my property too. I expect to kept in the loop about that. Martin who runs a security place in town’ll be coming over later to put new locks on Dill’s doors, and the windows because I’m not going to let that happen to him again. There’s no room for petty thieves and thugs in this town, it’s got enough problems. Alright?”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. Cop, remember? It’s my whole reason for being, to catch the bad guys and thugs.”

He shot her his most charming smile but she didn’t return it. She cocked her head to the side instead, and gave him a searching look.

“I’ve never met a gay copper before. When I was a kid the local cops used to pretend they didn’t know my parents were trying to beat the gay out of me each night. When I ran away they delivered me right back to it, every time. They just didn’t want to know.”

“The force has changed a bit since then,” David told her somberly. He’d heard so many stories like hers over the years, and it hurt every time, knowing the profession he’d chosen, and loved, had left so many scars on his community, and the people he served.

“Don’t tell us that,” Lizzy told him, but when David went to argue she gave him a look like a mother hen that shut him up immediately. “Show us. Show Dill. When he had his... accident, the cops treated him like a criminal instead of the victim. It wasn’t pretty. So if you want to be some sort of police ambassador you’ve got your work cut out for you. But,” she gave him another look, only now there was a spark in her eye, like she’d stumbled upon a joke and was bursting to tell him. “But I reckon if you really put the work in, and you’re keen... you might be just what Dillon needs, and easier than a dating site too.”

David felt himself blush and hoped it was well hidden beneath his overgrown stubble. Lizzy Elmer was definitely a canny woman. He shook her hand again and promised to keep her informed about the investigation and watched as she strode over to her ute while his thoughts began to spiral. He tried to reorder the facts he knew about Dillon, about the town, about the case. He tried to focus on the facts, to see only what he needed to see to catch the killer, but when he closed his eyes all he saw was Dillon, frightened and stubborn and beautiful. This had never happened to him before, he had never let his feelings cloud a case before, had never been so distracted by a man before, let alone one he’d only just met, but the fact was, Dillon Kelly was sitting at the centre of his mind, and he had no idea how he was supposed to deal with that.

*

The knock at the door made Dillon jump and for a moment he sat frozen, heart pounding and eyes darting toward the exits, like a ‘roo caught in a flood light. He didn’t want to be like this. When he’ was younger he’d been the sort of kid to take on the biggest bullies in the schoolyard without a thought of the consequences, a scrappy fighter with no concept of his own mortality. Now he was all too aware of how vulnerable and breakable he was, and he didn’t like it one bit. The knock came again and he pulled himself together and to his feet as quickly as he could. It wasn’t like an intruder would come back the next day, or knock on the door. Thieves traditionally didn’t announce themselves, he scolded himself, so whoever it was, they probably weren’t a danger.

“Hello?” came a voice from the porch and Dillon tried to move faster. He recognised that voice. “Hello, Dillon, mate? You in? It’s Martin. Martin White. Liz asked me to come ‘round and take a look at your locks. You alright in there?”

Dillon hobbled to the front door and opened it as he’d done the night before, with the chain lock still on, just wide enough to see who was there. He felt stupid when he saw Martin’s wide, friendly grin, and felt his cheeks flame when he heard the man chuckle, but it was a habit he wasn’t about to break in a hurry. He scratched at his cheek to hide the embarrassment and kept his eyes down as he closed the door to unhook the chain before opening it properly. Martin was a nice enough guy, had always been friendly on the few occasions when Dillon had met him, but he had no desire to actually be friends with the man. He didn’t want, or need, any new friends.

“Cheers,” Martin told him when Dillon moved back to let him in and Dillon tried to pull himself together in order to talk to the bloke properly. There was a certain rhythm to the way the men spoke out here and Dillon didn’t want to give any of them the impression that he couldn’t hold his own.

“No worries, mate. Thanks for coming by.”

“Yeah, Lizzy said you got in to some bother,” Martin said, looking about the small space as if he were mentally assessing it for possible weaknesses. “And you know me, I’d do anything for our Liz. I’m playing the long game see, I’ll win her over in the end.”

He winked as if it were a joke but Dillon frowned. 

“You know she’s a lesbian, right? Plaid shirt, big boots, live-in girlfriend; she’s made it pretty obvious.”

“Nah, man, it was a joke!” Martin laughed and slapped him on the back, hard. “Just a joke! Thought maybe you were sweet on her, thought I might have to set you straight.”

He continued laughing and Dillon smiled. He wasn’t great at reading cues so it wasn’t so unlikely, and if Martin was happy to joke about with him it was probably best to play along.

“I’m afraid straight’s not something I’m familiar with.”

He expected the larger man to keep right on laughing, and he did, after a pause. It was only a moment, a single beat of his heart, but it sent a sudden chill down Dillon’s spine. He was being stupid, he told himself, was seeing problems when there were none and when Martin joked about the smallness of the house, and how tidy it was, and about the town’s abysmal bus service, Dillon did his best to keep up with the banter, but he didn’t try to mention himself again, didn’t bring up the fact that he wasn’t straight, even when Martin mentioned again, as he started work on the back door, that he was working on Lizzy and thought he was in with a chance.

Another knock on the door made him jump but Lizzy had said she’d come back and so he opened the door a little less cautiously, though still with the chain across, just in case. His breath left him in a rush when he realised it was Officer Sharma at the door, and not Lizzy like he’d expected, and for a second his brain could only register how attractive the man was, with his scruffy stubble, black, curly hair and deep, onyx eyes. He wasn’t overly tall either, which suited Dillon just fine. He’d never been keen on having to go up on tip toes to kiss a guy and these days it was just about impossible to do so without pain, so shorter guys were definitely to his taste and-

He shook himself, blinking as he realised where his brain had been wandering and looked back at the officer as the blush returned full force to his cheeks. The other man hadn’t said so much as hello yet, and was looking at Dillon with concern, so Dillon quickly freed the chain and let him in, ducking back to try and avoid the awkward eye contact that he felt sure was coming. He’d been perving on a guy, in a really unsubtle way, and he wanted to run away and hide for the rest of his life.

“You alright?” Officer Sharma asked him as he walked in and Dillon fought to suppress the little shiver that passed through him at the warm, concerned rumble of the man’s voice. He nodded and angled his chin away instead, to hide his reaction and looked off in to the kitchen where Martin had stopped working to see who’d arrived and Sharma followed the line of his sight. “Oh, g’day. I’m David. I’m renting the next cabin over.”

Dillon didn’t hear what Martin said in reply, or the blokey small talk that went on after that as Sharma walked over to shake Martin’s hand. His mind was reeling. Officer Sharma, David Sharma, had moved in next door to him and he had no idea how to feel about that. It was probably a coincidence, he told himself, but it certainly felt odd to have seen the man three times in less than twenty-four hours. He still didn’t trust the man, he reminded himself, no matter that he’d been kind and sympathetic the night before, he was still a cop and a stranger, albeit a handsome one. He walked slowly back to the kitchen, using his leg as an excuse, but he couldn’t avoid the man for long, not when he was right there in his home, still looking at him with genuine concern.

“I’m fine, really, Officer,” he said, when he realised he hadn’t even said hello to the guy. “And Lizzy helped me put my room back in order. I made a list too, like you said, of everything that’s missing. It’s pretty weird.”

“What, the list?” Sharma asked, his brows creasing in a way that Dillon’s brain informed him was sweet, and he couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his lips. 

“I mean, the idea of writing a list of what’s missing, writing down what’s not there. It was harder than I thought it would be. But the stuff that’s gone is pretty weird too. I didn’t quite believe it at first.” 

He looked away, hating that he looked like a fool in front of the two men, but when he looked back Officer Sharma still had that sympathetic look on his face and it was hard to believe that he was just doing his job, that he didn’t really care.

“Weird in what way?” Martin asked, and Dillon hesitated. Martin was nice enough but he still didn’t want to discuss anything private with him, and the contents of his bedroom counted as private. 

Sharma seemed to sense his reticence and for a moment their eyes met before he smiled at Dillon and gestured toward the lounge room. “Why don’t we take a seat and you can show me the list.”

There was a second of tension and Dillon’s eyes darted between Martin’s looming form and Sharma’s open one before he nodded and turned toward the other room. 

“I’ll just finish up here then, shall I?” Martin called after them and Sharma gave him a smile that was sharp around the edges as he thanked him.

Dillon took his time getting to the couch but even at his slower pace he beat the other man to it and looked back to see that the officer was still looking at Martin oddly. 

“Officer Sharma?” he asked tentatively, wondering if the man was about to snap and arrest them both or something equally unlikely, but he just turned around and apologised sheepishly.

“You don’t have to call me ‘officer’ or anything like that, you know,” he said as he sat down, and Dillon sat down beside him, his curiosity piqued. “You can call me David, seriously. This is a small town and the rules are different. Everyone knows everyone and nobody seems fussed about formalities.”

“You’ve been here a week and you’re an expert?” Dillon quirked an eyebrow, and David grinned at him, a proper friendly grin that was just a little cheeky, and Dillon had to fight to keep himself from actually giggling like a teenager with a crush. David was even more attractive at close range.

“I’m an expert on many things,” David told him in a low voice. “Small towns, home brew beer, thief catching, nineties grunge bands, weird lists of missing items. I’m a man of many talents, trust me.”

Dillon nodded and looked up in to David’s eyes again, feeling his smile widen as he was caught up in the words, like it was a private joke between just the two of them. 

“How are you at sewing?” he asked teasingly and a huff of laughter escaped his nose as David’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared in to his dark curls. But he wasn’t off balance for long and squared his shoulders proudly, straightening his back as much as the soft couch would allow.

“I am, in fact, very adept with a needle and thread, Mr. Kelly. My mother taught me well and I am always ready to help should a fabric-based emergency occur. Why do you ask?”

Dillon almost wished he didn’t have to tell him. It would be much nicer to just carry on joking and making each other smile, but David was a cop and even if he seemed like a decent bloke he was still there for a reason and this was something that Dillon genuinely did need help with.

“My...” he debated for a moment whether he should tell the truth or hedge, but decided he wanted to see just how understanding Officer David Sharma really was, or whether he was too good to be true. “My flag. My um, Pride flag. I thought it just got torn down in the... the break-in, but when me and Liz tried to hang it back up I realised it was, you know, ripped.”

He shut his mouth tight to stop himself rambling and waited to see what David would do with the information. He was tense, he realised, ready to try and jump out of harm’s way, and as his cane bumped against his knee he felt stupid, because he couldn’t run away, if push came to shove. But David just gave him another of those rakish grins, and Dillon felt himself melt a little inside.

“Mr. Kelly, I am an expert Pride flag repairer. In fact, if I wasn’t a cop I’d be doing it full time.” Dillon gave him a suspicious look but David’s smile remained. “You don’t believe me? Okay. I submit, as evidence in my case, my first Pride march. I was seventeen years old and to celebrate the occasion of my coming out I sewed myself a rainbow super hero cape, in my bedroom, in secret.”

Dillon wanted to laugh; the man’s enthusiasm was infectious, but he still had questions about the evidence put forward.

“Why did you make it in secret if you’d already come out?”

“Because I hadn’t,” David said with a laugh at his past self. “I came out to my parents whilst wearing the cape, obviously. I’m not an idiot.”

Dillon did laugh at that because the idea of David Sharma as a seventeen-year-old coming out to his parents in a handmade cape, on his way to his first march, was entirely darling and he wished he could have seen it. And because he hadn’t heard something so innocent and joyful in a long time, and it made his heart ache in a way that was pleasant rather than painful for a change. But that in turn reminded him of his other heartaches, and the laughter died on his lips.

“And how did they take it? Your parents, I mean? How did they react to their son coming out as a gay super hero?”

David tilted his head to the side as if he was playing back the scene in his head and Dillon waited, watching the little parade of expressions that marched across his face as he thought. Even though they’d only known each other a day he already knew a few facts about David Sharma, and one of those facts was that the man wore his emotions very clearly on his face. He’d be rubbish in an undercover situation, Dillon thought. He’d give away his true intentions in a second.

“My parents...” David said slowly. “They took it better than I expected. My mother cried. A lot. My father went really still, didn’t say a word, and walked out of the room. My mother just kept on crying. So I went out to Pride and had a great time with my friends, and my community. And when I came home again... my parents both told me that they loved me very much and weren’t about to stop.” He smiled wistfully, his voice soft and expressive as he spoke. “It was fairly straight forward, really. How about you?”

“I never came out to my parents. I, um, moved out of home when I hit eighteen and, and started uni and we just sort of, um, drifted apart. We weren’t that close. But my first Pride,” he smiled and noticed that David had shuffled a little closer on the couch, like he understood that they were sharing something quite intimate. “My first... my boyfriend Sam, though he wasn’t my boyfriend at the time, he brought me along, and bought me the flag. The photo that was stolen, that was taken that day too. Um. He wasn’t, he wasn’t my boyfriend when we met up at the start of the march, just a friend, but by the end of the day he was my boyfriend. He was... he was great. The first person to actually tell me that it was okay to be a, um, a bisexual with a preference for guys. Most folks tell me I’m gay and in denial but Sam didn’t, he just understood.”

Dillon tried to avoid looking directly at the man sitting beside him. He could tell David was surprised because everyone was surprised when he told them he was bi. Everyone assumed he was gay and most of the time it didn’t bother him, he did have a preference for guys, a seventy-thirty split he always thought, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to cling to his identity for all he was worth. He wondered what David Sharma thought of his confession, and whether he was surprised. Then again, in all honesty, Dillon hadn’t picked David as gay, so it was surprises all round. 

“He sounds like a great guy,” was all David said in response and Dillon did look up at that, because he could hear the questions David wanted to ask, the main one being ‘What happened?’ but it didn’t come and they sat quietly for a while until David leaned across and gave Dillon’s hand a squeeze and gave him another, more somber, smile. “Shall we have a look at that list, then? What’s so weird about it?”

“Well, for a start, um,” Dillon said shakily, unsettled by what seemed like completely heartfelt kindness. “It’s all stuff I’ve collected at Pride marches and festivals over the years. A necklace; some rainbow bandanas; um, a t-shirt. And the ring. Sam gave it to me. It’s the only thing that’s really valuable. It’s the thing I really want back. And the photo, the photo of course. They’re important, you know? They’re...”

“Memories?” The smile had dropped entirely from David’s face but his eyes were still bright and practically overflowing with emotion.

“Yeah,” Dillon whispered, gripping the handle of his cane tightly. “Memories.”


	4. Chapter 4

“And who told you that you were allowed to do that?”

Lizzy frowned severely, the sort of look David associated with his mum finding out that he’d done something stupid and dangerous that required an apology, but Dillon just responded with a droll glare.

“I’m a cripple, but I’m not completely useless. I can carry dishes to my own kitchen sink if I want to.”

“You’re not a cripple,” Lizzy told him, her face and shoulders falling as she looked at him sadly. “You got hurt but you’ll recover, Love. You shouldn’t call yourself things like that.”

Dillon shrugged but softened his tone. “Yeah I am, Lizzy, but it’s okay. I’m getting used to it. And, and, and what’s one more label thrown in to the mix? Now move before I drop these dishes on your feet.”

David watched the interaction, trying to keep a hold of his curiosity. Even after spending the afternoon together, talking almost non-stop, Dillon Kelly still held so many mysteries and every time David thought he had the guy figured out he’d be handed a snippet of information that turned his whole view of the man upside down. It had been an evening of revelations, of friendly conversation and arguments and smiles, and yet he still felt that he knew almost nothing about the man who was now the focus of all of his thoughts. He’d never been so infatuated and it had been hard work hiding it from the rest of their group, though he guessed he wouldn’t have been ostracized if his interest had been noticed.

Lizzy seemed determined to get Dillon a boyfriend and David had almost bitten his own tongue clean through in his attempt to stay out of that particular discussion. It had been a relief to have Lizzy’s girlfriend Bec there, rolling her eyes at the pair of them and asking him about his family and where he grew up. She was a small woman, but the deceptively strong sort who used their low centre of gravity to their advantage and David enjoyed hearing her talk about the snakes that she cared for, and called her babies. Martin had been the real odd one out, David had thought, but he’d been cheerful and obliging and chatty and they’d all gotten along together well enough. Right then, as he watched Dillon and Lizzy argue over who would be doing the washing up, he wondered whether the cheerful companionship they’d enjoyed might be coming to an abrupt end. Lizzy had planted her feet and crossed her arms firmly, and Dillon’s lips were pursed while his chin was jutting out defiantly, and their stubbornness seemed equally matched.

“Why don’t I do the washing up?” Martin announced suddenly. “Shut you both up?”

He said it with a smile and a laugh but David noticed Dillon jump slightly at the volume of Martin’s voice, even though he turned and smiled and laughed along with the larger man who had been playfully ribbing him all night, for everything from his tidy little home to his ability to cook. David frowned. He wasn’t sure why Dillon was putting up with it. If David so much as breathed the wrong way Dillon would look at him sideways, and when his being a cop had come up in conversation he’d been met with frowns and the sort of body language that could give a man frost bite. But he felt like maybe Dillon was finally warming to him.

He hadn’t expected to be invited to stay for dinner for one thing, though that had more to do with the fact that Lizzy and her partner Bec had arrived with the ingredients and enough for everyone and that, despite how skittish he could be Dillon didn’t seem the sort of person who knew how to be really rude to anyone. So they’d all stayed for dinner and looking back on it David realised it had been a clever move on Lizzy’s part, to save Dillon from a long evening alone in a house that had been broken in to only the night before. He should have been the one to think of it, really, but he was glad that someone had. And the man really could cook. In only an hour he’d created a delicious meal for them all and David definitely intended to tell his mother about it, if only to see her mad with jealousy that he’d so enjoyed anyone else’s cooking.

Whilst the light argument over who would wash and who would dry continued, David filled the kettle and set it to boil and fished out the coffee jar and five mugs, mostly so it didn’t look like he was just watching the show. He had no desire to wash dishes and wasn’t about to volunteer just to seem polite. He’d end up the one doing them if he tried something like that. He wasn’t surprised when it was Bec who won the argument and ordered both Lizzy and Dillon out on to the back porch to cool down. She gave him a wink as she did so and David wondered what the joke was, that she assumed they were both in on, though he waited until the other two were outside before asking. Martin, he noticed, looked rather put out that he wasn’t being praised for volunteering to wash, or perhaps disappointed that it was Bec doing the drying. Those two hadn’t said more than a few words to each other all night and Bec gave off a definite vibe of wanting to kick the man soundly in the balls, even if she was a foot shorter than him. It was odd that she’d chosen to spend any extra time with him but David wasn’t going to question her motives.

“They wouldn’t have stopped ‘til they worked themselves in to a proper row,” she explained to David as she helped him scoop instant coffee in to the mugs. “Liz thinks the world of Dill but she tries too hard and he pushes back even harder. I sent them out there for a breather but like enough what they need is a barrier. Think you’re up for that, mister police man?”

“I think I can just about manage that,” he told her, carefully lifting three of the steaming mugs. “Wish me luck.”

He had expected to see something in Martin’s eyes, jealousy maybe, but they were blank; there was nothing there. The man grinned at him, his hands already immersed in the soapy water and any previous ill feelings seemingly already forgotten. It seemed odd but David tried to remind himself that he didn’t need to be suspicious of every man in town. They had their suspect list and Martin White did not feature on it. But Dillon Kelly featured somewhere. Not on the suspect list, but somewhere, and David needed more information.

*

Dillon was tired of squabbling. Lizzy was his friend and she really did have his best interests at heart. The problem was that what she thought was best, and what he thought was best, were actually quite different things. And he was tired, not just of the argument, but of everything. He’d come to out the country for peace and tranquility but neither of those things seemed to exist for him, no matter where he went.

He looked up with a scowl at the sound of the back door banging but his anger faded when he saw the look of intense concentration on David’s face as he carried coffee for the three of them. His tongue was caught between his lips and his eyes were focused on the task in hand and the only word Dillon could think of to describe him was endearing. After spending the afternoon chatting together Dillon found it almost impossible to dislike the man, not that he was ready to admit to it.

He reached out to take one of the mugs as David came close and mumbled a thank you, feeling heat radiating through his body when their fingertips touched and David looked up at him through his curls. Those curls that had become increasingly unruly as the evening progressed; as David ran his fingers through them as he spoke. On more than one occasion Dillon had wished he had been the one running his fingers through the thick, dark locks, but he wasn’t ready to admit that either. The heat in his cheeks increased when David gave him a very pleased grin and he tried to tell himself that it was the warmth of the mug causing it but he knew it wasn’t. He’d felt that sort of heat before, and that tug in his chest, and it was terrifying because he definitely did not want to develop feelings for anyone, let alone a cop.

He watched as David turned to hand Lizzy her mug and the way his eyes flickered between the choices of seats before he sat down next to Dillon on the faded love-seat. A smile erupted but he squashed it. He wasn’t interested, not in David Sharma, not in anyone. Just because he was gay and he was there did not make him boyfriend material.

“So,” Lizzy drawled after a lengthy silence. “How are you settling in, David? Did you have to make many trips?”

“Just the one,” David told her. “Truth be told, I had most of my things in the car with me when I came out to look at the place. It would’ve had to be truly awful for me to turn it down after almost a week at the motor inn.”

Lizzy laughed, short and sharp and David let out a low chuckle. They were pleasant noises and he relaxed back in to the seat, happy to be forgotten for a little while and let the conversation wash over him. He appreciated their being here, so that he wasn’t alone, but he didn’t have the energy to really participate. He barely had the energy to drink his coffee and settled for just holding it instead. He wasn’t driving anywhere; he didn’t need the caffeine keeping him awake. He felt his eyes begin to droop but fought to keep them open. He’d embarrassed himself enough in front of David, the last thing he needed was to spill coffee in his lap.

“And did you say you owned more of these cabins?” he heard David ask. The man’s voice was so smooth, so calming. Staying awake was getting harder by the second.

“Yeah, there’s a bigger camping ground on the other side of the park and a dozen cabins. They’re always booked up in the Christmas holidays but not so much now. And these ones are usually for longer stays, people who need somewhere peaceful to hide away for a bit.”

“Sounds nice. And Martin mentioned you’ve got some right out in the centre of the park is that right? Who uses those?”

Dillon frowned at that. He hadn’t known about any cabins in the middle of the national park. Most of what was called a park was actually impenetrable bush-land that no one in their right mind would want to travel into. He wished he’d known there were cabins out there. Then no one would be able to find him.

“Oh, it’s just the one,” Lizzy explained, “and we don’t rent it out. Bec uses it when she’s checking on the park. It’s too remote for most people; it wouldn’t be safe. If you get lost out there...” They all gazed as one out toward the dark wall of trees at the end of the yard and Dillon shuddered, hoping desperately that it was his imagination making him see a light bobbing along in the shadows, escaping with his treasures and memories. It had to be his imagination, because David and Lizzy were staring too and neither had mentioned it. He shook his head to clear it but it was too hard and he closed his eyes instead as Lizzy started talking again. “Too many people over the years just haven’t been found. Or were found too late. The bush can be dangerous.”

“Hmm. Like people,” David grunted.

Lizzy laughed again. “Spoken like a true copper! You’re probably about as trusting as Dill! You’re a right pair.”

Dillon opened his eyes and blinked at that. He did not want or need Lizzy butting her nose any further in to his love life, or lack thereof.

“Lizzy, don’t,” he groaned, but she didn’t listen.

“I didn’t say anything! But you seem to have made up your mind that you’re not interested in Craig, so who else is there? There aren’t exactly a lot of ways to meet other gay people out here, take it from me. You need to be proactive.”

“Oh, please, I’ve seen you with girls, you’re hardly proactive. You, you used to sit there sighing, just hoping they’d eventually notice you,” Dillon groused at her. “Besides, I don’t want to meet anyone, remember? I want to be a hermit and sit in my cabin watching birds and making biscuits. I think that’s pretty reasonable, don’t you?” He knew he sounded like a teenager in a strop but he was too tired to stop himself, and David’s low chuckle only made him feel worse. He definitely did not want to be laughed at. “I’m not even gay. The last guy you set me up with told me I was gross because I’d had, had, had sex with a woman. I don’t want to go on the site anymore, or the app. It’s stupid.”

Something he’d said made David sit bolt upright and Dillon flinched despite himself, which only made him more cross. Everyone was making him jumpy now, which was ridiculous.

“You’re using a dating site?” David asked roughly, and Dillon was pleased to see that he wasn’t the only one glaring; Lizzy was giving him the stink eye too. If he started taking the piss because dating apps were for losers and dateless wonders then Dillon was going to chuck him out of the house right then and there.

“What of it?” he asked. “Lizzy signed me up. I hate it. It’s a waste of time and it’s creepy. I don’t want strangers knowing my height and age and favourite film. I’m going to delete my profile in the morning.”

“Good. I think you should.” David told him, which was not what he’d been expecting, but something about his tone made Dillon more suspicious, and Lizzy was having none of it.

“No, you can’t! What about Craig? You said he was nice. You said you’d give him a go.”

“And I did,” Dillon whined. He didn’t want to be having this conversation in front of David Sharma, and not because he was a cop but because he was still a stranger, and talking about dating was private, and even if they had shared a few personal stories and gotten to know each other a little better, he still didn’t want to talk about his dating hang-ups in front of someone he’d only known for a day. It was embarrassing. “But he’s just not my type.”

“I don’t think you even have a type,” Lizzy snapped. “Nobody seems to be your type.”

“I don’t think you should see him anymore,” David suddenly interjected, and Dillon turned to look at him, feeling himself go bug-eyed but unable to stop his face from showing his shock.

“It’s really none of your business,” he said icily but David just squared his jaw and refused to back down.

“I don’t trust him. I saw him in the cafe with you and he just... didn’t seem right for you. He seemed like a creep.”

Secretly Dillon agreed. The man was a bit of a slime ball and was really only interested in talking about himself, but he’d be damned if he was about to let someone else tell him what to do, and David Sharma was no exception, no matter how handsome he was, or how creamy his voice might be.

“It’s none of your business,” he repeated through clenched teeth. “So we haven’t clicked yet, so, so what? I told Lizzy I’d give him a chance and I’m bloody well going to. We’re going out again on Sunday actually. To dinner. And you don’t get a say in who I see, or who I date. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

“Okay, maybe, but-” David tried to argue, but Dillon was too tired for any more people arguing over how he should be living his life.

“I think it’s time you left actually. I’m tired. I’d like, um, I’d like to go to bed now, I think so, if you could all...”

He clamped his mouth shut but the words were out, and he bit his lip in order to hold back the desire to immediately apologise, and because he suddenly felt horribly nauseous and didn’t want to add further insult by vomiting on the guy. David looked dismayed but didn’t say anything in reply. He just nodded, cleared his throat, and stood up, ready to leave right then and there. Dillon turned to Lizzy, hoping she’d say something, but she was just looking from him to David sadly, not even pleased that Dillon had agreed to a third date with Craig, just sad and uncomfortable with the silence.

“Thanks for the meal,” David said eventually, looking out across the dark, silent, night. “And thanks for the list of missing items. I’ll get it all put in the system and one of the other officers’ll be in touch when we have more information for you. Lizzy,” he turned, mouth open like he wasn’t sure quite what to say. “I’ll see you round, I guess.”

“I’ll give you a lift,” she said, standing suddenly and pushing her hands deep in her pockets. “It’s only down the road but at night, without a torch, city boy like you? You’re liable to break your ankle. Not to mention the snakes.”

She gave him a grin but Dillon could see it was half-watt at best.

It was a subdued end to the evening and Dillon hated that he’d been the one to ruin it, but couldn’t see any real way to backtrack. Martin was the last one to leave and seemed to be the only member of the group who wasn’t in low spirits as he ran through the new locks with Dillon one last time before grabbing his tool box and heading for the door.

“Cheer up, mate,” he said with a good-natured slap to Dillon’s back. “Dave’ll get over it, blokes like him and me don’t get their feelings hurt so easily. But I guess you gays are prone to that sort of drama shit, hey?”

Dillon sighed, too tired to fight, and too tired to explain. “Yeah. I guess so mate. Thanks for doing the locks. I’ll see you round.”

The words came out as a mumble and Martin was already halfway across the porch before he was done, waving to him as he jumped in to his large 4-wheeler, leaving Dillon alone and numb in the doorway. With a shiver he closed the door and locked it, sliding across the chain and the extra deadbolt Martin had installed that day. He wanted desperately to sleep, preferably for as long as possible, but when he got to his bedroom door his chest tightened again and the tears hit his cheeks before he had time to even register that he was about to cry and he backed away, stumbling over his cane as he went. He went to the loft instead, even though his leg and hip protested with each step, and settled himself down on to the narrow daybed by the window, taking a book from the pile there at random, desperate to distract himself from the mess he’d made and the fear that never seemed to leave him alone. It was going to be another long night, it seemed.

*

David Sharma was not a fan of early mornings. He was what his mum described as a ‘grumpy old so-and-so with no manners’ until he’d had at least one coffee, but he’d somehow managed to forget to bring any with him yesterday when he made his move to the cabin. Which meant he’d had to get up even earlier than he liked in order to drive in to town for supplies. His plan had been to get all the domestic chores done early in order to actually focus on the case and the job of following up on suspect surveillance but nothing was going according to plan and it was all just making him more stressed and more frustrated than he had been the night before.

The lack of sleep wasn’t helping either. He’d been so amped up when Lizzy and Bec dropped him home that he hadn’t been able to sleep, and now he was paying the price for it. It was just like his brain to start coming up with suggestions for what he could have said to Dillon only when it was far too late, and in an attempt to break himself out of the cycle of negative thoughts and ‘what ifs?’ he’d taken his case files and set up a little office for himself in the loft.

Even with his work to occupy him, David had found himself distracted and wondering how he could have phrased things differently, or found a way to calm Dillon down, but the outburst had seemed to come out of nowhere, and Dillon had been right: David didn’t know him, so hadn’t known what to do to when the anger came bubbling forth. He tried to tell himself that it didn’t really matter, that it was actually better for them all if they didn’t become friends. It was certainly better for Dillon to remain ignorant of the feelings David had brewing, there was no telling how he’d feel knowing that a cop had a crush on him. And David would be leaving when the case was done anyway, which would hopefully be soon... it was better for everyone that the friendship had stalled. But it still hurt.

Eventually the case files had grabbed his attention, and he’d spent the next few hours going back over the facts, looking for a clue they might have missed. The victims they had found so far were all young men, all gay, all strangled to death after being badly beaten. Two of the three had used social media regularly, as had one of the men who was currently labeled as missing and presumed dead based on his similarities to the other victims. But there appeared to be no other real connections. He’d stared at the photos supplied by the men’s families and friends until his eyes began to lose their focus. They had all been handsome men, but there was nothing to suggest that the killer had a type, they weren’t all brown eyed or short or long haired or stubborn, and David felt the anger building again, that they had been killed so callously.

Without conscious thought he looked in the direction of Dillon’s cabin, and startled when he saw a light in the window. He’d anticipated darkness because it was approaching midnight and Dillon had been so obviously exhausted, but from his window he could clearly see the light shining from Dillon’s loft. There was a good chance the man was suffering from insomnia, it was common enough after a break-in or assault, but he couldn’t stop the worry building in his gut at the thought of what Dillon must be going through, isolated through circumstance and his own stubbornness, his few precious mementos stolen and ripped.

It would be more sensible, David knew, to just keep an eye on his neighbour from a distance, but instead he went down to his suitcase and dug out his small, battered, but well stocked sewing kit, and set it out on the kitchen table, ready to take with him in the morning. Dillon Kelly wasn’t fond of the police and didn’t want friends or to be told what to do, but David Sharma was nosey and concerned and had dedicated his life to helping those who needed helping, and he had a flag to fix.

Which was how he found himself on his way down the road, full of possibly too much coffee, and three hours in to his day when sun was still only just above the horizon. His mind was buzzing, but it wasn’t only the caffeine in his system causing it. Finlay had called him just as he’d pulled in to the drive with his bag of instant coffee, bread, butter, cheese and apples, sounding ridiculously chipper and awake considering it wasn’t even seven a.m. She’d had news and knew better than to try and wait for David to be in a good mood before ringing it in. Not when the Adelaide police had found a body. A young male, fitting the description of one of their two missing men had been discovered, beaten and strangled, and almost unrecognisable after nearly two months under a pile of fill and rubble at an abandoned building site. The plan for the day, to check in on their main suspects and do a deep background check on Craig Gillman in particular, would have to be left for Finlay to do on her own. David would make the three-hour drive to the city to view the body, hear reports first hand and deal with the press interest that had finally sparked.

They’d been lucky up ‘til now. No one had seemed to connect the three deaths because the men hadn’t known one another but now, according to Finlay, word had spread that they were linked, and that the link was their sexuality, and David cringed at the thought of how the papers and news stations would spin the situation. If he had to put up with questions about the ‘dangers of alternative lifestyles’ he would probably lose his cool and do something regrettable. A press conference had been called for three p.m., which meant his day was going to be extremely busy, but he still had time for one last thing before he left town. He’d made a promise and he was damned well going to keep it.

He exited the car quickly and practically vaulted up the steps but stopped himself before he rapped too enthusiastically on the door. He wanted to make amends, and prove that he was trustworthy, and one of the men in town who were definitely not a threat, the last thing he wanted to do was give the guy a panic attack. He took a deep breath and knocked gently, politely, and then waited, listening in the silence of their empty street, until he heard the subtle thunk of the cane on the stairs inside the little house. He had thought of a couple of different ways he could begin their conversation, ways he could get them talking, win Dillon over and repair things enough so that he would be able to keep an eye on the man without it seeming letchy. Some of the opening lines he’d come up with were good, he was proud of them, and as he heard the locks click on the other side of the door he tried to settle on one. He had to get this right or the guy would never let him in the house again.

“Damn, Dillon, you look like shit. Did you get any sleep last night?”

The words were out of his mouth before his brain even registered them, and he felt his eyes widen until he thought they’d roll straight from his skull. That had not been what he’d meant to say! But the man on the other side of the door, dressed in track pants and an oversized t-shirt, really did look like he’d pulled an all-nighter, except that he was smiling. When he’d first seen that it was David at the door his eyes had narrowed and the suspicion had been clear in every line of his body, but when David’s mouth decided to run off and insult the man he’d actually smiled and ruffled his hair self-consciously, obviously realising how tired he looked and feeling some embarrassment about it. David’s heart fluttered at the simple action, at how sweet and artless it was, how perfect. He needed to protect the man, even if they weren’t going to be friends or... anything else, he needed to make sure that nothing happened to Dillon, which made catching the killer all the more urgent.

“Sorry,” he mumbled gruffly. “I didn’t mean to say that. I meant to say that you look tired. I saw the light on in the loft last night, well after midnight, and I worried and-”

“Sorry about last night,” Dillon said suddenly, the words falling from his mouth like he’d forced them out and David watched as the man’s cheeks coloured, and guessed that apologies weren’t his forte. “I was a, um, a dick. I shouldn’t have bitten your head off like that. It was stupid. I’m just, um... not very good at letting people in, I guess. So, sorry.”

He shut the door and for a moment David actually thought their conversation was over that Dillon literally wasn’t going to let him in, until he heard the telltale sound of the chain being drawn back and the door opened again properly. David took in the sight. Dillon wasn’t a tall man but there was strength in the line of his shoulders and with or without a weakened leg he’d bet money on Dillon beating him in any contest of strength.

“I’m sorry I stuck my big nose in when I knew you weren’t looking for my opinion,” he said carefully. “I do tend to be a bit too protective of my friends. Especially when it comes to things like dating. You see things in this job, you know, things that make you wary. Suspicious.”

He knew he couldn’t say more but tried to will Dillon to understand what he meant and for a moment their eyes met and his belly seemed to turn itself inside out and his heart began to hammer in his chest like he was chasing down a crook and the urge to do something truly stupid fired in to full force in his mind. To make matters worse Dillon chose that moment to wet his lips, drawing David’s attention to the perfect bow and dark golden stubble that surrounded them. They were such lovely, kissable lips, and David felt his resolve weaken. He couldn’t get involved, he told himself, he’d be gone in a week or two, but neither his body nor his heart seemed to care.

“I reckon I understand that,” Dillon said, just as David worried the silence would carry on until he gave in to irrational urge to kiss the man, right there on his doorstep. “Being suspicious, I mean. I reckon it’s something we’ve got in common.”

He smiled again and, though it was probably his imagination, to David it seemed just for a moment that his eyes darted to David’s lips before he licked his own again. This wasn’t something that had happened to him before. He was professional to a fault; it was a matter of pride. He knew where to draw the line, and he had never ever had romantic feelings anyone involved in one of his investigations. Yet here he was, when he should have been getting an early start on the long drive back to the city, standing on the porch of the most attractive man he’d ever met, contemplating kissing him as if that was even remotely appropriate.

Dillon had gone quiet, looking at him with his eyes narrowed, though it seemed to David that it wasn’t in a suspicious way. It seemed... considering. But a moment later he stepped back from the door and began to limp toward the kitchen, leaving David to follow or not as he pleased, which David took as a positive sign. He hadn’t expected to be granted such ready access to the house or for Dillon to be so relaxed about the locks, given what had happened over the last few days.

He shut the door behind himself and put the chain back across for good measure, then turned to watch Dillon as he walked. His reliance on the cane made his hip cock, which emphasised the pert roundness of his arse and David couldn’t help but appreciate the view despite himself. For all his talk the night before about being a cripple, Dillon looked in good shape and David was forced to subtly readjust his trousers before following him to the kitchen table.

“I can’t stay long,” he explained apologetically. “I had planned to have a fairly relaxed day today, you know, to ease in to my new job and all that, but something’s come up and I have to dash back to the city.”

Dillon turned and looked at him again with his head to the side and chin jutting forward, not suspicious but... curious, David realised. Dillon was curious, about him, and it made his heart start fluttering about all over again.

“What sort of something?”

“Oh, just bureaucratic nonsense, you know what it’s like; paperwork getting filed in the wrong place and pencil pushers blaming the stuff up on the wrong person, namely me. The usual bullshit.”

Dillon nodded and flicked the kettle on to boil. “I can believe that. I’ve had my fair share of, um, important documents go missing and been blamed for it. So why are you here? If your day’s suddenly so busy?”

He leant casually against the kitchen counter and David noticed the way he subtly lifted his leg and attempted to ease the ache of it. He wanted more than anything to tell the man to stop acting like he was fine and just take a damn seat, but he didn’t. Dillon, he had learnt through personal experience, didn’t appreciate being told what to do, and David wouldn’t have appreciated it either for that matter, but the urge was strong, so he decided to take a seat himself and see whether that would convince Dillon that he could set his pride aside and just relax. He put his sewing kit on the table by way of answer to Dillon’s question and grinned as he watched the man frown as he tried to work out what was inside the battered, plastic box.

“I made you a promise,” he said simply. “I am a master seamstress after all and you have a flag in need of repairs. I can at least get some pins in it before I have to go, and I can come back tonight or tomorrow to finish it up. It’s the least I can do.”

“Nah,” Dillon said, with a huff of laughter. “The least you could’ve done is nothing. This is... really something. Thanks.”

He pushed off from the counter and was moving toward the bedroom before David thought to say he could grab it for himself so he decided he’d get his own back by finishing the cup of tea Dillon was obviously wanting and made one for himself while he was at it. The tut he got as thanks when Dillon re-emerged a few moments later made it all worth it, and he sat back down at the table feeling rather smug.

“I was going to offer you tea,” Dillon admonished him. “Or coffee. What sort of host am I when my guests start fetching their own beverages?”

“What sort of guest would I be if I didn’t make myself at home and help out?” David countered and grinned proudly when Dillon smiled wide and their eyes met. “Now show me the damage? Let me work my magic?”


	5. Chapter 5

Dillon wasn’t quite sure how it had happened but somehow he’d managed to spend an hour just chatting with someone without feeling threatened or like he needed constantly justify his opinions. It had happened the day before as well and it was strange, doubly so because the person he’d been chatting to was David Sharma, a man he’d known for two days, and Port Evans’ newest police officer. When he’d moved to the town he’d never wanted to even talk to another cop, let alone get lost in ones eyes, and yet that was exactly what had happened. Even thinking about David made him feel excited, in more ways than one, because as well as the rapid pounding of his heart and permanent smile on his lips from how easy their conversation had flowed, he also couldn’t help but notice how other parts of his anatomy appreciated David as well.

He leaned back in the dusty back porch armchair, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to contain his glee. Seriously, he told himself, if he didn’t calm down soon he’d be giggling like a proper pubescent mess, but he couldn’t deny that the guy was hot, and that he liked what he saw. Even thinking about David’s eyes, his quick smile, and his long agile fingers was making him antsy, and he wriggled, pursing his lips in an attempt to stop the grin on his face from widening so far it actually started hurting.

They hadn’t talked about anything really important and Dillon had been grateful for that. David had just started telling him the story of how his mum taught him to sew, which somehow morphed into a conversation about embarrassing bands they had both liked in high school. They were only a year apart in age and for a few moments Dillon had felt ashamed because David had done so much with his life, but then David had started asking him about animals and what it was like to work at a vet’s clinic and Dillon had told him all about the shelter he’d worked for, and his short career checking over cats and dogs at pet shows. He’d hated the snobbishness of it all, and how sad some of the animals had been, but told David the story of the cat that’d coughed up one of it’s gold hair bows in the middle of a final judging, and how proud it’d been, like it thought it was in a talent show and had just pulled off an impressive feat, and how mortified the owner had been.

They hadn’t talked about anything too recent either, though David had mentioned the fact that his sisters had been trying to set him up with a boyfriend and how his mum wanted him to settle down with a nice man, and Dillon had laughed and agreed that being set up was horrible, second only to dating sites. It had been nice and he hadn’t wanted it to end but at some point during their second cup of tea the alarm on David’s phone had gone off, and he’d had to say goodbye. He’d looked as disappointed as Dillon felt to be leaving and had, rather awkwardly, asked if they could exchange numbers, just so he could make sure Dillon was alright, what with it being so soon after the break-in and all, and Dillon had honestly wanted to kiss him for being so sweet. He hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone for such a long time and it had been a little overwhelming. David had even asked him if he was alright, which just made it harder to keep from pashing him right there on the front porch, but he’d kept it together, and they’d done the number swap and now he was sitting out the back, fresh mug of tea in hand, wondering if it was too soon to send a message, even though David had told him to text any time and not hesitate. He felt ridiculously happy, a feeling he almost didn’t recognise, and he pulled out his phone and stared at the new number in his contacts list.

_‘Hey. Still all safe and sound, just checking that this is really the right number I guess. Thanks for this morning. It was really decent of you. Dillon.’_

His finger hovered over the send button for a long minute, trying to decide whether the message was too stupid and trite to actually send, then stabbed at the screen hurriedly, sending the message off before he could lose his courage. It was so nerve wracking that he’d actually started shaking and his fingers felt like they were charged with electricity, like when he’d rubbed his feet across his parents’ thick bedroom carpet as a kid, just to feel the tingling and the terror that came with not knowing whether he’d get a shock when he touched the metal door knob. He felt charged in a similar yet indescribable way now, like there was a spark that flared whenever he pictured David’s face in him mind, or thought his name. It was delicious but it was terrifying. He’d never fallen for someone so fast and even admitting that he was genuinely falling for the guy was bringing him out in goosebumps.

His phone buzzed and he very nearly spilt tea over himself as he scrambled to unlock it and read the message, but it wasn’t from David. It was just a notification from the dating site and he groaned as the app started to load. He’d regretted signing up five minutes after the deed was done but now he really saw no reason to have the thing and resolved to disable his account and delete the app from his phone. He would go out to dinner with Craig, only because it was kinder to tell the guy in person that he really wasn’t interested, but wasn’t going to try and set up any more dates, with Craig or anyone else from the site.

Frankly he was surprised that there was anyone else within a two hundred kay radius who was looking for a date because he was sure he’d met every single gay and bi man within reasonable distance, unless it was David of course. That thought was almost enough to make him laugh out loud, and what made him check who exactly had sent him a message.

It wasn’t David. He hadn’t really believed it would be, but it was a new user, requesting to chat. Once again Dillon found his finger hovering just above the screen. He didn’t want to meet anyone, definitely didn’t want to get in to a situation like the one with Craig, where he had to let another guy down gently after a few coffees and stilted conversations. But he was feeling more social than he had in a long while, the result of having spent the morning in easy conversation with someone he had actually clicked with, and so he found himself staring at the little speech bubble on the screen, knowing he couldn’t search for much subtext in the single word: ‘Hi’ that the mystery user had sent, but unsure whether he wanted to acknowledge the contact.

His phone buzzed again and he felt another jolt of excitement as the text message appeared at the top of his screen. He closed the app without another thought, grinning giddily at the text from David, already trying to think of a suitably casual, but possibly flirty, response to the words: ‘Glad to hear it. Read it. You know what I mean. I’ve just reached town and I already want to leave. I forgot that traffic was a thing. Half a week in the country and I’m already cursing traffic lights and shaking my fist at road works. And thank You for this morning. I can come on a little strong sometimes and I appreciate the second chance. Cheers, David.’

Dillon didn’t feel like analysing why and how he’d changed his tune so fast when he had vowed only a year ago to never trust the cops. It was all a bit confusing. But there was something about the way David seemed to genuinely care about his wellbeing, the way he looked in to Dillon’s eyes with compassion and curiosity and affection. It was all a bit foreign, and new, but he liked it, and he liked the way he actually felt alive, truly alive for the first time in a really, really long while.

*

David stared at the corpse, fighting to keep his breakfast down and wondering how anyone in the world could deserve to meet such a grizzly end. He needed to catch the man responsible and he needed to do it soon.

“There was nothing remarkable in the deceased’s history,” the detective in attendance told him. “We checked all the usual stuff but he was just a uni student, no ties to gangs or illegal activity which we’d usually find with this sort of body dump. He lived in Adelaide most of his life however, he was originally from the country. Went to Port Evans Primary, in fact.” His eyes flickered toward David, nervous about the detective, but David was too full of anger to put the man at his ease. “You think he’s connected to your guy?”

David nodded. The victim had last been seen heading toward the parklands west of the city after a night out. He lived in the suburbs just beyond and his friends had assumed that he was walking home. When his housemates realised he hadn’t made it home after all they’d called the police but the investigation hadn’t been extensive, and had stalled quickly because there had been so little to go on.

“Were there any personal items found with the body? Other than the wallet?”

The fact that no attempt had been made to hide the identity of the victim made David angrier and was yet another thing that linked the victims. They had all been found with their wallets untouched. The killer hadn’t bothered to remove I.D. or even cash. The kid in front of him in the mortuary was still wearing the silver chain around his neck that had been used to strangle him. It would have been taken if the death had been a robbery gone wrong.

David took a closer look at the pendant. It was two little, interlinked Mars symbols, a delicate and subtle indication of a man attracted to other men, still untarnished despite all that had befallen its owner. For some reason David found the sight of it more unsettling than the kid’s injuries, and he struggled to look away. Why had the killer left it? He had expected a murderer of this sort to take mementos from his victims but there was no sign that he had done so. It was important, somehow, and he needed to find out where it fit in the pattern that was emerging.

“We recovered the victim’s mobile, amazingly. The screen was cracked but our tech team got it working. They’re looking through it right now but there’s not much on there, as far I know. Just the usual stuff.” He shuffled through some papers in his hands before producing a list of apps and contacts recovered from the phone. “Yeah, just the usual social media stuff, a dating app, taxi app, fitness app. Nothing noteworthy. They’re still working on it, obviously but-”

“Did you say a dating app?” David asked suddenly. A spark fired in his brain as he turned to the detective, and he must have looked half-mad because the man startled and took a step back before looking down at his list to check his facts.

“Yes? They haven’t recovered any data from it yet, or at least they hadn’t when this preliminary was printed. They might have more now but- Hey, where are you going?”

David set off toward the lift at a fast walk, hoping he could remember where the tech department was. It was a small chance, he knew, a ridiculously small chance, but he had to look in to it. There had been so few leads in this case and something like this might finally point them toward the killer, or at least give them enough to bring Craig Gillman in for questioning. The detective caught up with him before he made it too far, and as they walked David explained his theory, not so much for the other man’s benefit but because he needed to speak it aloud to make sense of it himself.

“At least one of our three suspects uses a dating site; a dating site with an accompanying smartphone app. From memory at least two of our other victims were also registered with dating sites, though we only found the records for one of the men, victim number four, on his home computer. The other assumedly only used the app on his mobile and that was never recovered. We know about the app from statements made by his family and friends. We didn’t look to closely at the fourth victim’s activity on the site because nothing suggested that he’d had a date the night he disappeared but maybe we need to go back and look into the men he was talking to online. All our profilers agree that our killer is grooming his victims by pretending to be gay, by pretending to want to date them. He’s charming them. But what if he’s not doing it in person? Working through a dating site makes so much more sense. We were idiots not to look in to it seriously before now. Because,” he said, pausing to ensure he really had the man’s attention. “There’s is a chance, just a chance, that if we compare the usernames and IP addresses of the men these two victims were contacted by... we might just find a match.”

The detective walking beside him looked skeptical. He had at least fifteen years on David and the sort of face that said he’d heard it all and believed very little of it. He was the sort of man David had spent his career butting heads with, but he really didn’t want to start an argument right then, he knew he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself if he let his anger off the leash, and he needed the man’s help, if only to navigate the unfamiliar central station.

“You really think you’re going to find some obvious connection?” the older man grunted, his cheeks mottled from trying to keep pace. “You know there are plenty here who think this is all a complete waste of time and resources? That there is no serial killer? Not me, mind,” he growled hurriedly, “but the whispers are doing the rounds and no one gossips like a room full of cops and the gossip’s saying that you, Detective Sharma, are working off a hunch and no more, and that if it weren’t gays turning up dead no one would be getting their nickers in a twist and shouting serial killer.”

“What exactly are you saying, Smith?” David asked, trying desperately to stay calm. He stopped outside the door to the tech lab and eyed the man up, trying to glean something of his character but his anger was still clouding his vision, made worse by everything he’d just been told.

“I’m saying people die all the time, get murdered all the time. And the case you presented may have seemed convincing at first glance but now you’ve got to pull it all together. You can’t just point to every dead gay person and claim it’s all part of some big conspiracy. Why, we had a man killed in a hit-and-run some eighteen months back, and his friend near lost his life and his leg in it as well. Both of them were gay, or bisexual or some such. I had the unhappy job of interviewing the poor bastard after his leg was sewn back on, because the witness accounts didn’t add up and we had him down as a suspect. It was a nasty business but it wasn’t part of some masterful scheme. So what I’m saying is, if you want our bosses to keep on believing you and keep on paying your wage you need to give them new, hard, evidence. They need facts, not speculation. D’you understand, son?”

David nodded. The man had a point. This investigation had strayed in to speculation almost immediately because there was just so little for them to work with, but he still felt on the verge of a discovery, something that would get things back on track and give them a clearer idea of their killer. Because it was all the work of one killer, he was still sure of that. It was all connected somehow. It was all...

Suddenly something Smith had told him clicked in to place in his mind, a puzzle piece he hadn’t even known was missing.

“A hit-and-run?” he whispered. “And the man’s leg was injured?” The officer nodded grudgingly, as if anticipating the line of questioning to come. “And you never found the driver? Do you... Detective Constable Smith, you wouldn’t happen to remember the names of the two men? The one injured and the one killed? I know you warned me not to see patterns where there aren’t any, but it really would help my investigation if you could tell me their names. Even first names would be fine right now. And then I’ll happily write it all out so that the facts are all present and correct. Please?”

Smith sighed and shook his head but the please seemed to work it’s magic on him after only a moment’s deliberation. “The lad’s name was Dillon,” he said sadly. “I remember it ‘cos it’s my own lad’s name. And the other was Samuel, I think. That’s it, Samuel McNally. I went to school with a McNally. They were both knocked off their bikes and in to Sturt River. McNally died pretty much instantly I’m told, though we didn’t find him straight away, but the other, Dillon... his leg got caught up in the bike chain or some such and was taken clean off. Not a happy affair. But,” he said, taking in a deep breath and blowing it out again slowly, as if to dispel the nasty memories, “there’s no way it’s connected. Don’t even try. It was over a year ago. It’s the wrong M.O. Even this dating app is a long shot. If you start claiming McNally was the killer’s first victim or some bull you’ll be laughed out of the force. You’ve no proof, no evidence, no hope.”

He sounded very sure of himself but David wasn’t about to cowed by his words. He felt the opposite, in fact, and it was difficult to hold back the adrenaline starting to rush through his veins. The facts, all of the facts, were shining brightly behind his eyes, just waiting to be put in the right order. He grinned, which only made Smith’s frown deepen.

“There’s always hope,” he replied, pushing open the door to the tech lab, “because a few days ago I met Dillon Kelly, who is now living in Port Evans and was recently the victim of a break-and-enter. He is, believe it or not, using a dating app, which has brought him in to contact with one Craig Gillman. So if the big wigs upstairs and the gossips downstairs need concrete connections... I think I can manage that.”

He tried to hide his triumph but knew it would be showing on his face, just as it always did when he felt close to cracking a case or solving any kind of mystery really. It was like a drug, that shot of adrenaline that got his heart pumping and his nerves buzzing, but he needed to pace himself and lead with his head, not his heart, if he was going to get this right.

It was a long day. He spent hours with an IT specialist, going through the data available on their latest victim’s phone and comparing it to what they’d found on the other victim’s computer. He tried not to get his hopes up too much when he saw that they’d used the same site, or when several of the same usernames appeared in conversations both men’d had. They had even interacted briefly with each other, which sent a chill down David’s spine and put a much needed dampener on his enthusiasm, but it was still compelling, and the specialist had found more. There were a few IP addresses that stood out. They were attached to several accounts and could be tracked back to local libraries in the towns surrounding Port Evans. It was evidence that their killer was very possibly using the site to choose his victims and learn their habits but there was still more he needed to learn, and there just wasn’t time.

Smith came back to find him when it was time for the press briefing and David considered not going. If footage of him reporting the death was used then his cover would be blown and their killer wouldn’t come within spitting distance of Port Evans. He’d seen it before. Killers who would escape arrest by the skin of their teeth and go to ground, sometimes for decades. They almost always started killing again though, and David was not about to let this guy get away. He looked Detective Smith up and down and made a call.

“You’re up, Smith. You can have my notes and I’ll feed you information if you need it but you’re doing this statement.”

The man’s eyes had almost bugged out of his head but he’d understood David’s reasons. There was too much at stake and besides, Smith had been the one to inform the family that their son’s body had been found, it was fitting that he be the one to give the facts, and as the briefing began David felt that he’d gained another ally, and one who wouldn’t shy away from telling him what he thought as well.

His mobile buzzed in his pocket and he wondered who would be texting him, and then blinked in surprise at what he saw.

_‘Reckon you’ll be back in town for tea? or a late dinner? or supper? Lizzy bought me groceries and I’m making goulash and I may have got a bit carried away!’_

His heart immediately began to dance erratically and the only way he was able to fight the urge to smile was by biting hard on the inside of his cheek because smiling whilst a police statement was being read was completely unacceptable. But god how he wanted to.

 _‘I should be back around 9.’_ He typed, trying to seem like he was conducting serious police business. _‘Is that too late?’_

_‘Not at all. That’ll give me time to make dessert. You’re not allergic to bananas are you?’_

David rubbed his hand over his mouth because his lips insisted on twitching upwards, and texted his answer quickly.

_‘Is anyone allergic to bananas? I love them.’_

He thought for a moment, staring at the three little dots that indicated Dillon was already typing a reply. His feelings for Dillon were increasing rapidly, and he’d changed his mind several times already about whether or not to form any sort of relationship with the guy, but it seemed that a relationship had already formed, and quite a flirty one at that. It would come in handy, he knew, if Dillon was willing to let David keep an eye on him, but he wasn’t sure how far he wanted to push their new friendship, if that’s what it was. Dillon was important to the case. Somehow David knew that the secret to cracking this case lay with Dillon, and that to some extent he needed to use the man in order to catch the killer, but he just wasn’t sure how much he was willing to lean on the guy, when he knew his trust was still tenuous.

_‘Hey me too! Can I ask a favour? Can you pick up some wine? I don’t have any in the house but goulash should never be served without it. Is that okay?’_

_‘Of course,’_ David typed, then hesitated before continuing on. _‘Can I ask you a favour? What’s the name of the dating app you use?’_

_‘Why do you want to know?’_

The reply came almost instantly and David could imagine Dillon’s suspicious gaze being turned on his phone, his eyes narrowed and glaring at the screen, and he almost regretted asking, but carried on all the same.

_‘Oh you know, I just thought that maybe I should meet some new people. My mum wants me to settle down with a nice man after all. Do you know any nice men who might be willing to go on a date with a small town copper?’_

For a full minute there was no reply, and David tried to focus his attention back on the press briefing at hand. Smith was doing surprisingly well and none of the questions coming from the press were too aggressive, just the usual stuff about safety and possible warnings to people in certain areas, living certain lifestyles. No one used the word gay, or even homosexual, though David could just about hear it in the air. No one wanted to be the first to say it and he’d seen it time and again when minority groups had been targeted. He’d known people to tiptoe around the word Indian in his presence, like he might be offended by any mention of the country his parents had been born in. No one wanted to be labeled a homophobe or a racist or to say the words out loud and give the racists and homophobes a platform to kick off their hate. Australians liked to think they were laid back and accepting but it was mostly just indifference, and it annoyed David like nothing else. His phone finally buzzed again, just as the briefing was winding up, and David let out a relieved breath as he read the reply.

_‘I may know one guy in town who might be interested. But he’s actually thinking of deleting his account. It’s called FreeLove but if you want my opinion it’s not worth the effort. But if you’re interested in a date... I know a guy who makes a mean goulash. And he lives locally too. I could maybe tell you about him tonight?’_

David felt heat burn through him at the suggestion written so plainly in the text. He was playing with fire, he knew, but he had no desire to back down. Dillon wanted a date, or was at least open to the idea, and David wanted it too. And it would possibly allow him to flush out the killer, who knew? Their exchange had already won him an important piece of information. Dillon Kelly was indeed using the same dating site as the other victims.

 _‘Tonight sounds perfect,’_ he typed quickly as the press briefing came to a close. _‘See you at 9.’_


	6. Chapter 6

Dillon looked at his reflection again and wondered whether he should have made more of an effort. Or possibly less of one. It wasn’t a proper date after all. In fact, twenty-four hours ago he’d been adamant that he didn’t want to date anyone, and here he was, getting himself all worked up over dinner with his neighbour. He wondered whether Lizzy would be furious or delighted. She’d begged him to go out on that second date with Craig and it was only her pleading and nagging that had made Dillon agree to the third, and now, without much trying and absolutely no begging, he’d managed to set up a dinner for two with a ridiculously attractive man who he genuinely liked.

It seemed too good to be true, that someone so charming and kind would be interested in him, and he’d spent the afternoon swinging between nervous excitement and suspicion because David was still police, so there was still a chance that this was all a ruse, or a set up. It was why he’d started cooking, to take his mind off things, but that hadn’t worked out quite like he’d planned and was exactly how he’d ended up with the accidental dinner date. He’d only wanted to be neighbourly, because he knew David had a long drive home and probably didn’t have a lot of food in his fridge. And because, honestly, as much as he was good with needle and thread, and seemed to have a multitude of skills, Dillon suspected that David wasn’t that great in the kitchen. He’d looked nervous about peeling veg the previous evening so Dillon had thought he might appreciate another home cooked meal, and he really hadn’t meant for their texts to turn as flirty as they had.

Not that he really minded. For all his grousing about wanting to be left alone and not wanting to meet anyone new, he’d found himself enjoying the casual back and forth with David, and the squeeze in his chest that he’d previously only associated with Sam. That thought had put a bit of a shadow over things, but Dillon had pushed it aside. He’d deal with those feelings later, he decided, but not today. Today he actually wanted to be happy, and Sam would want him to be happy too, he figured. Sam had always just wanted him to be happy.

A sound like the crunch of car tyres on the loose stone of the verge made his heart jump suddenly and he headed to the window as fast as he could to see who was there, but it was hard to see much in the fading light. The sun had already sunk behind the trees and there were no streetlights out on their street. He thought for a moment that he saw a white car or ute parked out on the other side of the road and down a way but he couldn’t be sure, and didn’t want to get himself worked up in to a panic over nothing, didn’t want to ruin his good mood with useless paranoia. He double checked the locks though, just to be sure, and pulled the curtains across the windows, but still jumped when his phone beeped at him.

_‘I’ve just stopped at bottle-o for wine. Do you have a preference?’_

Dillon grinned and tried to steady his breathing. He still couldn’t quite believe they were about to have dinner together, as if they were old friends rather than brand new acquaintances, and he felt a blush spread across his cheeks as he pictured David wandering about the bottle shop, thinking of Dillon and what he might like.

_‘Not really. A red would be best but I’m easy.’_

The blush increased as he read back over his own words and realised what he’d just sent. Oh god, had he really just told the guy he was easy? He put the phone down on the table and began to pace awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair and completely messing up the style he’d spent ages trying to get just right, and couldn’t even slow down when his leg began to protest at being so ill used. He didn’t want David to think he was easy, didn’t want to give off that sort of vibe, didn’t even know whether he wanted to actually date the guy, not really! Dating and relationships were complicated and painful but so, apparently, was texting, when it was Dillon doing it.

His phone beeped again but he hesitated in checking it. He was being stupid, he knew that, but still couldn’t stop his brain from listing off all the possible negative outcomes. He finally limped to the table when his phone beeped a second time and was flooded with relief when he saw the replies.

_‘I’m easy with wine too. The guy working here gave me his recommendation so I’m just going with that.’_

_‘On my way to yours now. ETA 5 min.’_

Five minutes. He had five minutes. The house was already clean enough and the food was warm and ready to go. He hadn’t set the table because he didn’t want it to seem like anything too formal or something more than two neighbours having a late dinner together and there really wasn’t much else to do except wait for David to show up, which basically just gave him five minutes of dedicated anxiety time. He checked on the food again instead, and got two plates and two glasses down from the shelf, and then realised, just as he heard footsteps on the porch, that he’d been running his fingers through his hair again and probably looked a complete mess. There was no time to fix it, there was a knock on the door and he didn’t want to keep David waiting in case he thought Dillon had fallen on the stairs or something and tried to burst in, so he hobbled over as quickly as he could and just prayed that he didn’t look too much like a scarecrow in a high wind, and that David wouldn’t be disappointed.

*

David really hadn’t known what to expect when Dillon answered the door. He’d quite genuinely thought he’d be met with a suspicious glare through a crack in the door, but instead the door opened wide and he found himself face to face with the most ridiculously attractive man and his body immediately flushed, as if he’d suddenly developed a fever, one which rendered him mute as well as hot with desire. He’d only really seen Dillon in track pants and comfortable house clothes but now he stood before David like a rock star in slim fit jeans, striped shirt with sleeves rolled fashionably just above the elbow, and a black waistcoat. His hair was artfully tousled and David felt horribly untidy in his creased trousers and shirt. He had a sweat patch under each arm and a stain on his thigh from his rushed attempt at lunch and had apparently just knocked on the door of a genuine angel in human form. He wanted to say something complimentary but still couldn’t seem to speak, or even think of something to say. At which point Dillon Kelly smiled at him, head tilted and chin out like he wasn’t at all aware of how he looked, and David worried he’d never be able to draw breath again, let alone say hello. When he felt his trousers begin to tighten he wanted to scream at his body for being a traitor and desperately thrust the wine out in front of him, hoping it would be enough of a distraction as he mumbled hello.

“Hey, cheers,” Dillon said softly and as he took the bottle their fingers touched, which didn’t help David one bit, and he practically stumbled in to the house when Dillon stepped back to let him through.

The clicks of the locks sliding back in to place brought him down to earth a bit, and as he watched Dillon walk unsteadily toward the kitchen, holding tight to his cane for support, David was able to wrestle some control back; at least enough to follow the man through to the kitchen and actually find his voice.

“It smells amazing in here,” he murmured, which was a masterful understatement but the best he could manage at short notice, and Dillon gave him another smile, wider this time, as he lifted the lid from one of the pots on the stove.

“My gran was Hungarian,” he explained, “and she, she insisted on teaching me to cook, even though it pissed my dad off no end. He, um, didn’t want me doing girly stuff. He wanted me to be a sportsman and spend all my free time playing football and cricket and soccer. Even animals were considered too, um, feminine in his house. I played A grade cricket but it still wasn’t enough for him... sorry.”

“Why?” The words had all tumbled out in a rush and David could see that Dillon was embarrassed because he’d angled his face away and a faint blush had spread across his cheeks. What David really wanted was to cross the kitchen and give the man a hug but that probably wasn’t appropriate right then so he settled for using his gentlest tone of voice, to try and indicate that he wasn’t about to judge or laugh. “What’s wrong?”

Dillon looked up, his eyes searching David’s face carefully before he spoke. “I, um, I was rambling. That’s all.” He shrugged. “But, um, the food’s ready so I’ll dish up if you want to pour the wine?”

“Sure thing,” David agreed and made himself busy with the cork. “You know I used to play A grade in school as well. I was mad about cricket, but I’m Indian so it’s sort of compulsory, you know. I should really get back in to it. D’you still play at all?”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and Dillon turned to him with eyebrows raised, a plate of goulash and mash in one hand and his cane in the other.

“Um, not so much,” he said wryly. “I’m not as quick on my feet as I used to be.” David winced at the words and nodded but looked up when he heard Dillon chuckle. “It’s no big deal, seriously. Take your dinner though ‘cos I can’t carry more than one thing at a time.”

The conversation flowed more smoothly after that, although mostly David found himself raving about the food and talking about his family. Dillon didn’t seem bored by the domestic subject matter however, and laughed and teased and declared that he needed to meet David’s sisters because they sounded hilarious.

“I can’t let you,” David said with a laugh of his own as they sat together, bowls empty and most of the wine gone. “They’ll tell you too many embarrassing stories about me. And they have photographs,” he explained dramatically. “Very incriminating photographs from my youth that must never be seen. You meet my sisters and you’ll love them and never want to see me again and that would be... disappointing, to say the least.”

He was aware that the two glasses of wine had loosened his tongue, and that he was looking at Dillon in a way that was probably a little personal, but he just couldn’t help it. It was the truth. Even the thought of losing Dillon made him feel melancholy and he was willing to do almost anything to ensure it didn’t happen. He’d fallen in deep, he realised, and had no desire to climb back out. Sure, there was a chance he’d be gone in a week or two, but there was also a chance that the killer would continue to be elusive. Who knew, really, how long he’d be around?

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere in a hurry,” Dillon told him softly, looking up through his lashes. “I haven’t felt this calm and happy in ages. Not since-” he paused and David watched as his large, expressive eyes seemed to fall under a shadow. “Not since before my, um, accident, I guess.”

“It was pretty bad, huh?”

David felt a pang of guilt as he asked the question. He already knew most of what had happened but couldn’t let on that he did without sparking Dillon’s ever present suspicion. He could see it in the back of the man’s eyes as he weighed his words carefully, trying to decide what he was ready to share.

“It was a, um, it was a... hit-and-run. Um. My boyfriend, Sam, and me were, were on our bikes, going over a, um, a, a, bridge, when a car came up behind us. We both ended up in the river. Sam ...”

David watched as a tear trembled for a second and then fell, trickling down Dillon’s cheek while the rest of his face seemed a frozen mask of pain. He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t let the man suffer on his own without any sort of comfort, and before he could rethink his decision he had jumped from his chair, rushed around the table, and pulled the crying man in to a tight hug. Dillon didn’t resist. He simply clung to David as his tears flowed and a wet patch formed on David’s shirt. He closed his eyes and saw again the file, details of the incident written out so dispassionately, even for a police report. He had assumed, when they’d first met and he’d seen Dillon’s limp, that it had been a superficial and recent injury. Reading the details of the report had set him straight, and made him feel sick with sympathy. He wasn’t sure that he would have survived it himself, and the need to protect Dillon was so strong he worried it would rip him apart.

Judging the best moment to loosen his arms was difficult and David wanted to get it just right because, while Dillon was currently appreciating the embrace, he didn’t want to hold on past the point where the man was comfortable. He loosened his grip slightly but didn’t step away, and it was a few more minutes before Dillon sniffed and moved back, turning his head to hide his face. David didn’t want him to feel any shame for crying but couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound like standard police jargon. What he wanted was to take the man’s face in his hands and kiss his pain away and show him that there was not need to hide, not from him, but they were still only newly acquainted and pushing Dillon’s boundaries and forcing intimacy on him would be vastly irresponsible. Even the hug might have been too much, but he felt they’d both needed it, and he didn’t regret offering the comfort.

“Dillon, I’m so sorry,” he said eventually. “You don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. It’s none of my business. I am so, so sorry.”

He watched as Dillon nodded, his breathing harsh and uneven, but could think of nothing else helpful to say so settled for rubbing his arm instead, something his dad had always done for him when he was upset and there was no one else around to offer comfort.

“I’m, I’m sorry,” Dillon whispered eventually. “I’ve been a mess this week. I used to be, um, such a ‘Boys don’t cry’ kind of person, you know? But now I’m lucky if I make it day without collapsing in a puddle of tears.”

“It’s good for you though,” David told him gently, giving his arm a squeeze.

“It’s rubbish,” Dillon answered back vehemently, and David couldn’t stop the puff of laughter that escaped his lips.

“That’s as may be,” he said with a nod. “But from what I’ve seen in this world, of grief and loss and pain... It takes a while for it to all come out, but it does hurt a little less with time.”

“You sound like my physiotherapist,” Dillon told him in lighter tone, and he looked away with a quick smile. “She was always telling me to give myself more time. But to be honest, I’m not that good at being patient.”

“Me neither,” David agreed, stepping back with an answering smile. “Like, for instance, I distinctly recall you mentioning bananas and dessert and I cannot wait to taste more of your cooking.”

Dillon’s grin at that was all David had hoped for and he fetched plates and forks while Dillon went to the fridge and returned with a banana caramel pie that immediately set his mouth to watering. He steered the conversation clear of anything he thought could set Dillon off after that and eventually the redness faded from around the man’s eyes and lips. By the time he started telling anecdotes from his university days, including Lizzy’s first run in with an angry snake, which she had greeted with the words “Hello Love!” they were both relaxed and laughing again.

David knew that really he should have tried to ask Dillon more about the accident, and about his claim at the time, that the driver of the car that ran him off the bridge had swerved toward them a few minutes before, after seeing Dillon and Sam share a kiss at a red light. Dillon’s statement suggested that the driver of the car had been aggressive, and that they had caught up with him several times at traffic lights, and that, to Dillon’s mind, the behaviour had only started after he and his boyfriend had kissed. David knew that there was no real way for him to corroborate Dillon’s version of events and that there was a chance that Dillon’s belief that the hit and run had been a deliberate attack was simply a perceived link, not a true fact. But there was still a chance that there was more to it than that, and David was aware that really he should have tried to get more information out of the man when he had been so close to giving it up. But it had seemed wrong and as he watched Dillon smile he stood by his decision not to push things. Tomorrow would be another busy day but he resolved to make time in it somewhere for Dillon. Especially, he told himself, now that he knew that the dating site Dillon had been using to meet men was the same one that had been used by at least two of the victims.

Yet his brain whispered that it wasn’t the real reason he felt compelled to see Dillon and spend time with him. He’d fallen for the man and he couldn’t deny it. He’d never met someone so captivating in both body and mind, so intriguing and courageous and kind, and so lovable. It was frightening and he had his misgivings, because mixing his work and his private life was far from a sensible move, but he was in too deep now and was almost sure that Dillon felt the same. He couldn’t be the one to cause the man more pain. He would just need to tread carefully. But that was all tomorrow. Tonight all he had to worry about was whether he could physically manage another slice of pie, and whether he should do the gentlemanly thing and volunteer to do the dishes.

*

Dillon opened his eyes and stared at the patterns the morning light was making on the ceiling. Had he really cried in David Sharma’s arms last night? Had he really... He sat up abruptly in bed, bare chest heaving as he thought back over the events of the previous night and as he put it all back in to place, and the details came back in to focus, he brought his fingers tentatively to his cheek.

They’d had a really wonderful night, just talking and laughing and getting to know one another more. Their friendship was still only new but Dillon couldn’t say any more that they were only acquaintances, or strangers. Not now. The hour had been late when they’d finally decided to call it a night and Dillon had been so tired yet so desperate for the night not to end. Eventually David had made the call. He had an early morning coming, not because he was a morning person, he told Dillon, but because Finlay, the officer who’d been assigned to show him the ropes for the next week, was very much a morning person and insisted on calling him in the early hours to let him know that she’d already been for a run, cleaned the house, opened up the station, and personally brought down two crooks, all before David had managed his first cup of coffee.

He’d looked so unimpressed as he’d said it, as if even the thought of waking up triggered his grouchy, non-morning person mode, and Dillon’d had to laugh. But he’d also realised that he was getting a glimpse of what it would be like to wake up beside David, and see him first thing, and suddenly he’d been blushing furiously and getting antsy all over again, like he had when the guy had appeared at his door looking roguish and disheveled with his untucked shirt and curls flying all over. It had been an effort to keep his urges in check and not kiss him then and there, but he knew better than to try and rush things and a few flirtatious texts weren’t enough to convince him that his very new feelings would be reciprocated. Still, he’d wanted to, and the feeling had increased as the hours passed, because David Sharma really did seem too good to be true. When Dillon rambled or stuttered or his words petered out or he just plain didn’t have and words, David hadn't rolled his eyes or been annoyed, and it had felt, for those few hours, as if he’d finally found someone who understood him again, and it had brought all sorts of emotions bubbling to the surface.

The crying had definitely been embarrassing though, but David had handled that like a pro too. Which was probably because he was a decent cop and therefore really was a professional when it came to making people feel safe when things were tough. He wished it had been David there after his accident, he might have made Dillon feel like it was actually going to be okay, and that he wasn’t an idiot for feeling like the whole thing had been more than an accidental hit-and-run. David might have actually tried to find the person responsible for Sam’s death.

He’d even contemplated telling David everything and asking him to look in to the case but had stopped himself. He hadn’t wanted to ruin their evening and David probably couldn’t look in to a death in another city, there were probably jurisdiction issues or something. But he’d thought about it, and he’d been surprised by that, because he had never thought he’d meet a cop he could trust. Just like he’d never thought he’d meet a man who he actually wanted to know better, who made him excited and aroused and lost for words and ... then David had appeared.

When the time for goodbyes had finally come Dillon had walked him to the door under the pretense of locking up after him but really so that he could spend a few more moments beside him, so close their arms brushed against one another’s as they walked. And David had turned to him, in the doorway, and thanked him, and Dillon had thanked him for the company, and it had all been very nice but a little awkward. And then Dillon had gone to give David a hug, because the last one had been so good, but David had pressed a kiss to his cheek instead. And Dillon’s whole world had begun to spin.

It was the smallest thing, a peck on the cheek and no more, and when he’d pulled back David’s eyes had been wide, as if he had only just realised what he’d done. It made Dillon wonder if this was something he did habitually, with family and close friends, and what that could mean for their own budding friendship, but he didn’t ask. He just stood there, like a stunned mullet, staring at the man’s lips. He licked his own, suddenly realising how dry they’d become as he stood there, breathing so heavily, and as if in answer David had leaned in again, to lay the most delicate kiss to the corner of Dillon’s mouth.

Dillon had been ready to jump him at that point, but he didn’t get the chance. David had stepped back and reminded Dillon to lock his doors and call straight away if he had any trouble, and then he was gone, out in to the dark, and Dillon still hadn’t caught his breath.

He’d locked the door and wondered if sexual frustration counted as having trouble but decided not to call. He didn’t want to ruin things with cheap jokes or failed booty calls. David was special and he wanted to test the waters a bit before he jumped in. He’d thought sleeping would be difficult, considering how worked up he felt, but the exhaustion of the last few days won out and he was asleep almost as soon as his head his the pillow.

He turned now to look out at the crisp morning. The magpies were warbling and the sticky heat of the day hadn’t really kicked in, which meant it was still early. Feeling a grin break out across his face he rolled over and grabbed his mobile from the bedside cupboard. With any luck he could be the first thing David Sharma thought of when he woke too.

 _‘You up?’_ he texted quickly, trying to imagine the look on David’s face if the message had managed to wake him.

He snorted at the double entendre as he looked down at his own morning stiffy and settled himself back down under the covers. He hadn’t woken up happy in the longest time and he intended to make it last.


	7. Chapter 7

David looked at the text Dillon had sent him that morning and smiled. It had been a hell of a day and the back and forth he’d been able to share with Dillon had been the only real highlight. When his mobile had woken him two whole minutes before his alarm was supposed to he’d been ready to rip Finlay a new one but instead it had been Dillon, and he’d laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt genuinely cheerful first thing in the morning but apparently Dillon was as good as a caffeine hit.

_‘You up?’_

David considered his answer. Things were moving a little faster between them than he’d anticipated, faster than he’d really ever moved with anyone, and while he could see the merit in playing it cool, or even leaving some space before he texted back, he just couldn’t resist, not when he’d been woken from a particularly erotic dream which had left him most definitely up.

 _‘Depends on your definition,’_ he’d answered cheekily. _‘Are you?’_

He tried to imagine how Dillon might look at that moment. He’d seem him sleep tousled, had seen him shirtless, and his brain supplied him with an image that made his morning hard-on begin to ache.

_‘I’m awake but not getting out of bed. I’ve got nothing to do today.’_

_‘That sounds nice. Wish I could do the same.’_

David rolled out of bed despite how tempting it was to lie there and swap texts with his- He blinked. What was Dillon to him, exactly? His crush? Acquaintance? Friend? Date? Some combination of those things? Technically he was just investigating the man’s break-in, a small town copper learning the ropes and following up on a victim of crime. But that was really only a cover and his investigation was a whole lot more complicated. He felt a sudden pang of guilt at the secrets he was keeping from Dillon. It was necessary. He had a cover to maintain. If he decided he could break his cover for one person it would be harder to maintain it around others and then soon enough his true reason for being in Port Evans would be known by everyone in town, including the murderer he was trying to track down. It wasn’t that he thought Dillon would tell his secret, he wasn’t the gossiping sort, it was David. If he told one person the whole truth he it would be harder to hide it from others. It was already difficult, being in town with Finlay, who knew his true reasons for being there, whilst everyone else was being told a lie, but it was his job and it was important. He just hoped he’d be able to tell Dillon the truth sooner rather than later, so that they could be open with one another about where they might be headed, but there was no guarantee.

_‘D’you have another action packed day planned?’_

Dillon’s text came through just as David was heading for the shower, mug of coffee in hand, his brain already boiling over with too many thoughts. He smiled. There weren’t a lot of people in his life asking him about his day and it seemed, for a moment, blissfully domestic, to have someone who cared enough about him to actually take an interest in his day. He wanted to repay the kindness, but how?

_‘Another busy one I’m afraid. And I’d offer to do the cooking tonight, but my repertoire is rather limited and I don’t know that I’ll be able to find what I need in Port Evans. So... fish and chips? My treat?’_

_‘Sounds great. I haven’t had fish and chips in yonks! My place or yours?’_

David hesitated, but a quick look around his small cabin, which he had managed to cover in police files, crime scene photos, unwashed shirts, and coffee mugs, despite the fact that he’d only just moved in and had spent almost no time there, decided for him.

_‘Yours. I’ll txt you when I’m done for the day. Will you be alright on your own?’_

He could imagine the look Dillon would be giving his phone when he read that. He’d be rolling his eyes, and jutting his jaw out in a show of defiance, David felt sure, but he’d had to ask, because he was a worrier and because Dillon already meant more to him than he could keep to himself.

_‘I’m sure I’ll be able to cope without you for a few hours. It’ll be tough but I’ll manage.’_

_‘Fair enough. I’m heading in to the shower now. Talk later. x’_

_‘x’_

David stared at the small _x_. He hadn’t made a conscious decision to add it to his text but then, the kisses he’d pressed to Dillon’s cheek the night before hadn’t been thought out either. They’d just happened and he couldn’t bring himself to regret them. And Dillon had reciprocated, which sent a tingle down his spine and heat back to his groin. He’d taken care of it, but the warm feeling of affection and desire had carried on through the day.

His team had been able to get hold of data from the dating app and had discovered that two of their other victims had been users as well, which brought the total to four, plus Dillon, and David really felt like he was finally getting results. They already knew Craig Gillman used the site because it was how he’d made contact with Dillon, and by lunch time they had confirmation that one of their other suspects had an account as well, a man by the name of Mark Chen, who lived in Port Coogan, a town only thirty minutes from Port Evans.

David still felt that Gillman was their best bet, but he couldn’t prove it and hadn’t been able to connect him with any of the users who had logged on to the site at the town’s public library. He had an officer watching Chen but’d had to pull surveillance off of their third suspect when a call came through at midday that he’d been out of the state at the time of the first murder, and had a watertight alibi for the fourth.

“Alright,” he ceded, stopping on the footpath outside of the bakery as he tried to juggle his pie, drink and phone. “Thanks, Smith. Good work.”

“Not a worry,” Smith said down the line. “But I’m not finished yet. I did some more digging on the bloke that’s still missing, a Mr. Toby Dent, which wasn’t easy, mind you, because we’ve only been assuming he’s linked to all this, we haven’t had the proof of it.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that,” David sighed but Smith just let out a grunt that might have passed for a laugh in return.

“Well, it turns out that he’d just finished his degree and got his teaching license, and you know how there’s incentives for young teachers to go out to the country?” He paused and David heard the tension in his voice. “Well the education department got back to me to say that Mr. Dent had accepted a position at the primary school… in Port Evans.”

David let out an uneven breath. “So there’s our connection,” he muttered, feeling his chest tighten as his heart began to beat more rapidly.

“Seems so,” Smith replied. “With your okay I’ll be putting together a new search team down here, to go back over where Dent was last seen, and any sights nearby where a body could have been dumped.”

David nodded. “You’ve got the all clear from me. Keep me posted as things come in. Cheers, mate.”

He wasn’t sure exactly how or when he’d gained more allies but apparently he now had people on his side, and information was finally coming in. He just wished more of it were good. In some strange way he’d hoped that Dent’s disappearance might turn out to be just a coincidence but the connection to Port Evans was too blatant to ignore. At least they were getting closer, he told himself. At least he was in the right place.

“So, was it bad news or do you just not like the pastry?” Finlay appeared at his side as she spoke, grinning around her own lunch.

“Nothing wrong with the local cuisine,” David assured her. “I just heard that our missing man, Dent, was due to start work here at the school and that our suspect list is down from three to two.”

“Well, that’s good news, right? We’ve linked him to the killer? And fewer suspects means we’re narrowing our search, we’re getting closer to catching the bastard.”

David shrugged and began walking again, though he wasn’t entirely sure where he was headed. He just knew he had to move. Standing still had never got him anywhere and he was certain an answer would present itself if he just kept going forward.

“Could be,” he said eventually. “Or could be a trend starting and we’re just going keep hitting dead ends. We have to keep finding openings, so we can see the big picture. We can’t just focus on one suspect, it skews perspective; it’s bad policing.”

Finlay let out a snort beside him. “I know that. But you still think it’s Gillman, right?”

“Yeah,” David said slowly. “But we can’t just decide it’s him and make the evidence fit how we feel. I’ll be damned if I let this case fall apart because I let my emotions get in the way.”

“And what emotions are those, boss?”

She asked it nonchalantly but David wasn’t fooled. There was a reason she’d made detective at her age, and trying to get something by someone trained to see clues, and who had access to the town’s web of gossip, was almost impossible. A killer might be able to hide in plain sight in this community, but a man’s love life was apparently fair game.

“The usual kind, detective,” he said in a clipped tone, knowing she was smiling at his shoulder and enjoying his discomfort. “And not the kind I intend to talk to you about, alright? What we need to do now is come up with something practical that we can actually do to catch this bastard.”

“Catch who?”

David span around faster than he wanted to, not well pleased that someone had been listening in on his conversation, and was only marginally relieved to see the hulking figure of Martin White coming toward him, his grin broad and open as he waved hello to them both.

“Hi Martin,” Finlay waved back. “And none of your business. You know full well we can’t talk shop when it’s an open investigation.”

“Oh, say no more,” Martin replied jovially. “I just thought maybe it was another pesky book  
thief you needed help with.”

Finlay gave him a droll look. “I was twelve, Martin. And I was the best book monitor this town ever had. And I haven’t forgotten that it was you nicking all the books. You were lucky to get away with a fine and a caution. I’m surprised they’d even let you back in there!”

It took David a moment to slot the pieces together but the conversation started to make more sense when he realised that they had stopped directly in front of the town library, which Martin had presumably just exited. There was obvious history between his junior detective and Martin White and he watched it with interest, wondering if it stopped at a shared childhood or whether there was something more. He couldn’t really ask, not after he’d told Finlay to mind her own business when she’d tried to bring up his love life, but he was curious, as always, about the people he worked with, and the small town dynamics at play.

“Hey, don’t point the finger at me!” Martin exclaimed with a laugh. “I’m a reformed man! I’ve just been volunteering my time and skills for the betterment of our beloved library, actually. Free of charge and out of my strong sense of civic duty.”  
“That’s what volunteering is, dumb arse,” Finlay told him, and made to continue walking, but David’s curiosity had gotten the better of him.

“What exactly is it that you do, Martin?”

David was aware that sometimes he came on a little strong when asking questions. It got him results in interviews and interrogations, but wasn’t always appreciated in more general conversation. He could tread more carefully if he put his mind to it, if the situation and person warranted it, but more often than not he knew he could be a little blunt. Martin didn’t show any sign of being offended though; his grin was still firmly in place.

“Security systems,” he said with a laugh, though David wasn’t sure what the joke might be. It was a Port Evans in-joke he supposed. “I started out doing locks and basic home stuff like I did for Dillon, but these days it’s mostly cameras and sensors and alarms and stuff. That’s what I was doing this morning. I set up a whole system in there a year ago,” he gestured over his shoulder to the old, sandstone building. “But they’ve got some new staff on and I needed to run them through it all and work out some bugs from the system, you know. Folks think computers and security systems are so hard, you know, but it’s not really. It’s all just knowing which buttons to push and which codes to use. But some folks in this town think it’s witchcraft, god bless ‘em. So I do my bit and help them out. I always seem to find myself doing favours for the people of this town. Doing my civic duty. I’m always happy to help.”

“Yeah, you’re a real hero,” Finlay rolled her eyes. “We’ll see you around okay?”

David began to turn away but stopped, considering. They had to keep their minds open, even if most of the evidence was pointing toward Gillman, and he needed all the help he could get.

“Actually, Martin,” he addressed the man with his most friendly tone. “I think I could really use your help. You installed security cameras in the library, correct? You wouldn’t be able to get me the footage from those cameras could you? And bring it in to the station for me? I’ll be in there from about two this afternoon and it’d be a huge favour.”

Martin raised his eyebrows but didn’t hesitate in agreeing. “Yeah, it’s a public building, I guess, so no wavers or privacy issues with it. I’ll head back in and see what I can do.”

“Cheers, mate,” David said, shaking the man’s hand. “I owe you one.”

“Nah,” Martin told him, standing back to grin at them with his grin almost splitting his face and his chest puffed up. “I can’t exactly say no to one of Liz’s tenants. And city boy you may be but you’re also one of us now, Dave. And we look after our own ‘round here.”

He gave them another wave and headed back in to the library. David saw him laugh as he got chatting with a woman as he held the door for her. The user who had accessed the site from a library computer was an anomaly; it didn’t fit with either of their suspects. The techs back in the city hadn’t been able to give them any more information but if there was video footage it could change everything.

*

Dillon stared at his leg. It was a hot day, and humid too, and he hadn’t really been able to justify wearing track pants or jeans, so he’d thrown on his old cargo shorts and pretended to himself that it was fine. It was just him, after all, alone in the house, and if he rugged up too much then he’d sweat, and that would irritate the scars, which would lead to a whole lot of trouble that he just didn’t need. Despite the efforts of the surgeons his shin still didn’t look great, and was the sort of injury that was hard not to stare at. It was deep and looked angry, even after so much time, and he’d been warned not to expect too much for at least the first few years. Some of the other scars were actually larger, up around his thigh and hip, where his pelvis had shattered and been pieced back together, but the scar around his shin was just more... he hesitated at the word ‘impressive’. There was definitely something unsettling and a bit unnatural about it though. He struggled to think of it as a real part of himself, even as he wiggled his toes it felt like it wasn’t him doing it and he wondered if he’d ever feel like it was his foot or whether it would always feel foreign.

He wondered what David would think of it, and whether he should show him, just so that he’d know what he was signing up for if he was going to keep flirting with him and giving him the most achingly sweet parting kisses. He hadn’t shown it to many people, other than his doctors and therapists, and the only people in town who knew the extent of the injury were Lizzy and Bec. He kind of regretted showing them. Lizzy had looked sickened while Bec had just commented that it looked like a croc bite she’d once seen. He didn’t want to see the same disgust on David’s face, not directed at him but perhaps, if it was going to happen, it was best to get it over with and move on before he got in any deeper. They’d texted a few times during the day but Dillon hadn’t heard from David for a few hours and had been trying to convince himself that it was nothing to worry about. There was no agreement, no understanding between them, and no actual reason to be sending messages, unless they wanted to. Originally David had said to text if he felt concerned or unsafe but hadn’t seemed to mind that Dillon had sent messages just to say hello.

Thunder rolled softly across the fields from the coast and Dillon watched the storm drawing in from the loveseat on the back porch. It was going to be another big one by the look of it. The sound rattled through the little house and set a nearby tree to creaking and he shivered even though the weather was still steamy and not even slightly cold. It had been overcast all day but now the sky was turning properly grey and the shadows in the house were lengthening, like ink bleeding through wet paper. A strong gust of wind hit the house suddenly and somewhere within a painting clattered against the wall and made him jump, but Dillon stayed put. He didn’t want to go back inside.

As often as he’d tried to be sensible about things, as many serious talks as he’d given himself, he still felt frightened to be in the house alone. It had been alright yesterday, when David had visited him in the morning and Lizzy had stopped by with his groceries and then David had come back again, and stayed until Dillon was too tired to be anxious and had finally been able to sleep. But now the fear was back, because he was alone, because of the noises and building electricity in the air, and because seeing the sorry state of his leg made it impossible to ignore the fact that if an intruder were to return he wouldn’t be able defend himself properly, or escape. He was vulnerable and the tightness it caused in his chest made him feel ill.

It didn’t help that he had no way of knowing when David would be coming round. He’d been tempted to cook, just for something to do, but David had promised to bring dinner with him, and Dillon didn’t want to seem ungrateful. He wondered what Detective Finlay was doing to keep him so busy when he’d only been in town a week. Other than the break-in at his house Dillon hadn’t heard of any other recent incidents and Lizzy definitely would have said something if there was any news to tell. Looking for a single thief couldn’t be keeping the entire Port Evans police department busy, surely. Then again, he mused, he hadn’t heard that any progress had been made in the case so perhaps it was a real mystery and they were all working hard to get to the bottom of it.

Dillon snorted at that. He liked David and thought he was probably the best a copper could be, but he still had his doubts about whether the thief would be caught and his belongings returned. It was a disheartening thought and he rubbed his right hand against the knuckles of his left. Even though he hadn’t worn the ring for months it still hurt to know that he couldn’t put it on. It had been a memento, a reminder of happier times, and somehow he felt it would have been easier to move on with David if he’d still had it with him. Perhaps, he thought, he should talk to David about that as well, about the fact that his boyfriend had died and that he hadn’t been there for the funeral because he’d been drugged up and in and out of surgery and being interviewed by the police, and how all of that had made it doubly hard to grieve and move on. Then again, saying all of that would probably send David running faster than if he was to accidentally catch sight of Dillon’s Frankenstein leg.

Another strong gust of wind whistled along the tree line and set the house to rattling again and Dillon cursed himself for jumping. He’d been strong once, fearless once, and he wanted that feeling back again. Instead his good leg jiggled and his heart pounded and his palms were too slick with sweat to grasp his cane and the longer he sat listening to the storm brewing the more the feeling that he needed to vomit increased until tears began prickle painfully like nettle rash behind his eyes. When his mobile buzzed unexpectedly he actually let out an audible sob and wanted to kick himself for being so ridiculous and dramatic. But he couldn’t kick himself when one of his legs didn’t work properly. He was too useless even for that.

He eventually managed to calm himself enough to reach over and pick up the phone, and let out a huff of frustration when it was nothing more than a notification from the damned dating app. He opened it angrily, determined to finally delete the useless thing, but it loaded to the messages page, and his heart stopped dead when he saw the notifications. Along with the original message he’d seen the day before, were two new messages waiting to be opened. One said simply _‘Hello’_ but the other was a winking emoji and neither was from users Dillon had met before. His chest began to tighten again, at the sight of them, but he couldn’t seem to explain even to himself why they made him feel so uncomfortable. His brain told him to delete them, to delete the app, like he’d been meaning to, but he closed it instead and pushed the phone away, lowering his head until it could rest in his hands, the heels of his palms pressing against his eyes in a way that was so nearly painful. The phone buzzed twice more but he refused to look at it. He was focused entirely on holding back the tears and the panic. But it meant that when he heard the crunch of a shoe on the dry leaves, and saw the shape of a figure in the fading light, he screamed. And when the person began to run toward him his panic overwhelmed him and the tears began to fall with a force he couldn’t stop, just as the rain began to fall from the sky.

*

“Dillon, it’s me!” David repeated, trying to keep his voice even and gentle so as not to frighten the poor man more. “Dillon, it’s okay, you are safe. It’s me, David. David Sharma. Detective Sharma. Officer! It’s Officer Sharma. It’s just me, there is no one else around and you are safe. I promise you that.”

He tried to ease his grip on the man’s arms; afraid that it could be misunderstood and might be causing more upset, but the second he did Dillon’s shaking doubled until he looked like his entire frame might collapse at any moment. Nothing seemed to be working and from his position on his knees looking up David could see the terror that had clouded Dillon’s features as the panic took over. He tried stroking the stricken, beautiful face, and lovingly brushed away the hair that had fallen across Dillon’s eyes, but it wasn’t enough, and after a moment’s hesitation David moved to sit beside him on the loveseat and pulled Dillon in to a secure hug.

He’d seen panic attacks before. They were upsettingly common when victims were identifying suspects or giving statements, but he’d never been in the position to truly comfort someone during an attack. It had never happened to one of his friends or boyfriends before. He tried to be gentle but Dillon was shaking so hard and David worried he would vomit or pass out soon if they didn’t get it under control, so he tightened his grip and began to hum. It was an old lullaby that his mum had used to sing to him when he was scared or had trouble sleeping, and he hummed the tune softly as he held the poor man to his chest. The rain was falling steadily around them and David watched it, feeling hypnotised by the silvery sheets of water, the patter of it on the roof above, and the song he couldn’t quite believe he remembered.

It seemed to take a very long time for Dillon’s breathing to settle, but David couldn’t be sure, because the storm clouds had obscured the sunset and he couldn’t reach his phone, but eventually the gasping and sobbing quieted and he felt Dillon take several, deep, gulping, breaths.

“I’m so, I’m so... sorry.”

It was the smallest of whispers, but David heard it, and acknowledged it with a nod.

“Me too,” he replied quietly. “I tried knocking but there was no answer so I came to check around the back. I thought something had happened so I ran and ... I’m guessing that made it worse.”

Dillon breathed against his chest in a way that might have been a laugh before tilting his head so that his nose pressed against David’s neck, and suddenly it was David feeling the panic rise in his throat. His protective instincts were raging and his body was urging him to kiss the man while his brain was telling him to back off, to not take advantage. His lips, caught in the middle of this internal war, tingled with anticipation. But instead of dipping his head to capture Dillon’s lips with his own he pressed a kiss to the man’s forehead, holding the contact for as long as he could before shifting his centre of gravity back in order to asses the situation.

Dillon looked terrible. He had stopped trembling but still looked horribly shaken by the ordeal and David used his thumbs to wipe away the tears that streaked the blotched cheeks, searching his mind for something to say to fix things, when he suspected there was nothing he could do or say to make Dillon better. He continued to hold Dillon’s face in his hands once the tears were gone and found the urge to stroke his fingertips along the fine cheekbones too irresistible to ignore. Soon David found he was tracing the line of the other man’s jaw, brushing his fingers through the long, dark brown hair and then, as if by some compulsion, tracing the line of his lips with his thumb.

“Dillon,” he sighed, shivering at the emotion he heard in his own voice. “I know we’ve not known each other long,” he stopped to catch his breath and saw Dillon nod in response, urging him on. “But I, um, I think I care about you very deeply. I like you. I have very strong... feelings, for you. And I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Okay?”

He winced at how awkward the words sounded, he’d never been any good at expressing his feelings in words and wished he could have had a chance to rehearse them in his head, but they’d caught him by surprise. Dillon just nodded again, his head moving like it was on a spring and David cupped his face more securely. Dillon was staring at his lips. His eyes occasionally flickered upwards to meet David’s but he didn’t seem capable of maintaining the contact, and David watched as his tongue ran across his own lips with apparent longing, whilst his wide eyes remained focused on David’s.

“Um. I’d really like to kiss you, if that’s okay?” Dillon whispered eventually and David felt the air rush out of him at those words, at the emotion behind them, at the longing.

He lowered his head, now desperate to give the man what he needed, what they both needed, and let his lips hover just a breath away, until Dillon closed the gap between them, kissing him with a need and a passion he’d never experienced before.


	8. Chapter 8

Dillon gasped as something flickered in the corner of his eye, distracting him from one of the greatest kisses of his life. He tried to ignore it and focus on the slide of David’s hand against his cheek, and the lips against his, swollen plump from kisses, and for a while it worked. He closed his eyes and pushed his tongue back in to David’s mouth, his arousal becoming a tight, desperate ache when he heard, and felt, David moan. He tightened his grip in the man’s tangled curls, adoring the thickness of it, and deepened the kiss more. Sam had been blonde with hair that was as fine as the most pure, sun-kissed, sand and Dillon had loved running his fingers through it. But David’s hair was more like a lustrous satin and he let his fingers become lost in it as he pulled the man closer needily. He was being more forward than he’d ever been before and he wondered if he was moving too fast, coming on too strong, but David didn’t seem to be complaining. He was making small, whining noises at the back of his throat that were making Dillon’s cock throb and driving him mad, but he definitely wasn’t complaining, or trying to slow things down. 

Until a sudden noise, like a boot slipping on the wet stones, snapped Dillon’s eyes open again and set his heart pounding so hard his chest felt bruised. There was a movement, the slightest outline, but before he could focus on it David had turned to look as well blocking his view, his body tense as he too searched the darkness.

“What did you see? What was it?”

Dillon wanted to scream that it had been a man with broad shoulders in a black hoodie, but shook his head instead. It was too dark, and the rain was beginning to fall harder than ever, and realistically he knew that he couldn’t have seen anything more than a shape by the side of the house and that it was his brain and eyes just seeing what they wanted to see. Yet the overwhelming feeling that it had been the same man who’d broken in to his home just wouldn’t leave, and he felt his body begin to shake as the panic and fear returned.

“Nothing,” he lied. “It was nothing. Just my eyes playing silly buggers.”

“Are you sure?” David pressed, standing to walk a few paces toward the edge of the porch. “I might just... check.”

“No!” Dillon felt as if ice had been dropped down the neck of his t-shirt at the thought of David walking out in to the dark. It didn’t matter that he’d walked the perimeter of the house only a few nights ago, on a night just like this one. Dillon didn’t want him to leave the light and the relative safety of the house. He didn’t want David to leave him. “It was nothing, there’s nothing, nothing out there. I don’t want... I don’t want you to leave.” He took a deep, unsteady breath. “Please?”

“Okay,” David said simply, though his eyes lingered on the shadows for longer than Dillon liked. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. And you’re right. What would be out there on a night like this?”

As if to illustrate the point, thunder clapped suddenly above them and a second later the whole property was lit by the bright flash of lightening that followed. There was no one in the field, no one near the house. 

“Can we go inside, please?” he whispered when the thunder had finally rumbled itself to silence, and David nodded and immediately began gathering up the bags he’d brought with him and abandoned on the porch floor.

They walked quickly inside as the strength of the rain increased, and Dillon felt his leg protest at the swift movement. He had definitely done some damage to it the night he’d run out into the rain in pursuit of the thief. It had been more painful the last few days, and as he locked the back door behind them he shook his head at how idiotic it had been. He was scared shitless of the intruder and could barely believe his first instinct had been to try and go after him. At least this time he wasn’t on his own, and smiled when he saw that David was making himself at home in the kitchen. He’d unpacked the fish and chips, which had gone a bit cold and soggy while they’d been busy with other things, and he’d switched on the oven, presumably to heat them up, and now, for some reason, was searching every cupboard in the kitchen. The bottle of white wine still looked cold enough and Dillon crossed to the table and snatched it up. He needed a drink. The cork, however, proved difficult. He couldn’t plant his feet well enough or brace himself and so couldn’t get the leverage he needed, and it seemed ridiculous that a bum leg should affect things he thought he only needed arms to do. 

He set it down on the table again, harder than he needed to, and let the corkscrew clatter down beside it, wishing he could throw something, just to relieve the frustration and tension, but knew he couldn’t. David was already looking at him with concern and he didn’t want to scare the guy off. 

“I can do that,” David told him, his voice dark and mellow, grabbing up the corkscrew before Dillon could object. “What I couldn’t do was track down a baking tray. I’m a bit useless in the kitchen, really.”

Dillon cocked his head to the side and looked up at him through his hair, trying to decide whether he was telling the truth or whether it was just false modesty. David didn’t seem like the sort to hide his talents or play down his strengths but he was also difficult for Dillon to read and he carried on staring, enjoying the slope of the man’s shoulders and the way his long fingers moved so quickly and surely, and the way his eyes kept darting up the longer Dillon stared. 

“I thought you said you had a repertoire?” he said teasingly. “What is it, toasted cheese?”

By the way David’s eyes widened at that comment Dillon thought he might have just guessed the man’s food of choice. He bent to retrieve a tray from the drawer beneath the oven, forcing his face to stay neutral despite the stab of pain, and when he looked back over, David was grinning at him and eyeing him off in a manner that seemed... hungry. 

“Cheese toasties are possibly my favourite food, I’ll have you know. Food of the gods! And there is an art to making the perfect toasty, you mark my words.”

He waggled the corkscrew as he spoke and Dillon couldn’t help but laugh.

“And that’s your idea of proper food, is it? I hate to imagine what your diet’s like.” 

“It is proper food,” David countered, opening the wine and stepping toward Dillon until they were almost chest-to-chest. “And my diet is perfect. Toasties for breakfast, pies for lunch, fish and chips for tea. I’ve got all the food groups covered.”

Dillon pulled a face. “Yeah, covered in fat. You’re ridiculous.”

David leaned in, a smile twitching about the corners of his lips like he was trying to hold it in but couldn’t quite manage it, while his eyes stared right at him, making promises that made Dillon ache all over again. David moved his arm, leaning right in until Dillon was trapped against the kitchen counter, but he didn’t kiss him, didn’t touch him. He grabbed two wine glasses from the draining board instead and poured them each a glass of wine.

“Cheers,” he said, handing Dillon his drink and lifting his own, but Dillon couldn’t make his body move and just watched as David took a sip, his lips catching the moisture and looking so kissable that Dillon thought he might go mad if they couldn’t go back to just making out like carefree teenagers.

He finally brought the glass to his lips and gulped the cold wine. He didn’t even taste it; he just needed to quench his thirst somehow, even though he knew no drink could do it. He needed David, but David wasn’t making a move. He was standing so close that Dillon could see his stubble and the creases in his shirt and the creases round his eyes, and he put his glass down clumsily on the counter so that he could use both hands to pull David toward him, one hand grabbing his shirt, the other skimming the skin at the back of his neck to tangle in the curls there and guide his head down. David, it seemed, didn’t need any more urging than that. He pushed his body against Dillon’s, grinding their hips together until Dillon started to moan in to his mouth, overcome by the heat and pressure, a reaction David had apparently been aiming for because he took it as his cue to begin kissing along the line of Dillon’s jaw until he found his neck.

Dillon knew the sounds coming out of his mouth were probably ridiculous but he couldn’t stop, not when David was sucking on his neck and grinding his cock against Dillon’s and sliding a hand down from his waist to his squeeze his arse until Dillon was genuinely worried he was about to come in his pants. David’s other hand was in his hair, the tips of his wickedly clever fingers scratching against his scalp until he felt himself go into sensory overload, unable to cope with everything David was doing; wanting to push him away and pull him closer all at once.

His body decided, separate to his brain, to buck against David with such force that he had to hold back his orgasm with clenched teeth and fingernails digging into the man’s skin, and David gasped so loudly that Dillon worried he’d hurt him. He eased off a little after that, peppering Dillon’s mouth with light, tender kisses until they had both regained their breath, and their minds.

“I should put the food in the oven,” David panted, resting his forehead against Dillon’s. “You don’t eat enough fat and I promised you dinner.”

Dillon smiled and closed his eyes tight. He didn’t care about the food but he appreciated the chance to take to take a breather. As much as he loved what they were doing, he didn’t want to rush in to anything heavier. And he definitely didn’t want things to end too quickly all because his body had been touch starved and was ready to come so soon.

“You do the oven, I’ll get plates.”

David pressed one more kiss to his tingling, swollen lips before moving back and Dillon scrambled to grab the edge of the counter as he suddenly had to support his own weight. Even his good leg felt boneless, while his shorts just felt unbearably tight. They weren’t the only flies pushed to bursting he realised as he watched David walk unsteadily back to the oven to ready the fish and chips for a reheat. He was so obviously hard that Dillon wanted to tell him not to bother with food, or with taking their time, or with anything sensible like that, but at that point David’s stomach grumbled loudly, and he blushed and squinted his eyes shut in embarrassment and Dillon decided that dinner was probably in both their best interests.

*

“Does it hurt all the time?”

Dillon shivered as David used the tip of his finger to trace the scar around his shin but David wasn’t sure whether it was caused by his touching the sensitive scar tissue or because Dillon seemed to be so receptive to any kind of positive touch. He’d watched him shy away from comfort, even hugs from friends, whilst all the while his body language screamed that he wanted to be held, and it had made David yearn to cover the man in kisses and soft touches, which he was finally getting to do. They’d cooled down a little bit, after their serious snogging session in the kitchen, but even if they had refrained from grinding each other in to the furniture, the heat had remained, and David had been desperate to touch Dillon and feel every inch of his skin. 

He ran his hand up Dillon’s calf to his knee, enjoying the coarse scratch of his body hair, and then continued upwards, under the hem of his shorts, and let his fingers slide over the softer skin of Dillon’s thigh, watching as he shivered in just the same way, his body reacting instinctively to the touch. They were sitting together on Dillon’s couch, or at least, he was sitting, and Dillon was reclined with his legs across David’s lap, his eyes heavy lidded and relaxed. He hadn’t wanted David to see his leg at first, had even tried to leave to change his clothes after they’d sat down together with their reheated dinner and he’d realised that he was still wearing his shorts and that David could see the evidence of what had been done to him. 

The only argument he’d listened to was that if he left to change his food would go cold again, and David had carefully avoided looking at or mentioning Dillon’s leg during the meal. It was only after, when David had cleared their plates and refilled their glasses that the subject had come up again, but David was glad that it had. He wanted Dillon to be comfortable and open with him because, he realised as his heart jumped sickeningly, he cared for Dillon in a way he couldn’t recall ever caring for another person. Dillon had winced as he tried to change his position on the couch and David had asked if he would be more comfortable lying down. Dillon had said no but it was an obvious lie and eventually, with much coaxing, David had convinced him to lie back, with his legs resting on David’s thighs. 

Still they hadn’t mentioned the scars, or what had caused them, but David had managed to discover that the muscles in both of Dillon’s legs tended to become tight and sore with too much use, and so he had put his large hands to work and had started massaging Dillon’s calves, and inevitably they had come to the topic they had been so carefully avoiding, when Dillon admitted that he had been frightened to let David see his leg, in case it disgusted him or made him change his mind about how he felt and the attraction brewing between them.

“It’s not that bad. Not really,” Dillon murmured, his eyelids drooping further as David’s hand stroked lazy circles against his inner thigh. His lips parted and his lashes fluttered under David’s administrations but he continued to explain, despite the arousal David could see growing between his legs. “I mean… it hurt’s like fuck but... funnily enough the, um, the reattached part, the foot and the shin... it, um, doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the top of my leg.” David paused his movements for a moment, worried that his touch might not be entirely pleasurable, but Dillon shook his head, as if understanding the hesitation, then gave a shuddering sigh when David began circling his fingers once more. “It’s the outside of my leg, at my hip. Where my pelvis, um, shattered. Most of the pain’s up there. The replant scar just looks more gruesome. And it pulls a bit, ‘cos that leg’s shorter now, which is apparently another reason why my hips hurt, ‘cos nothing’s even anymore, but... compared to the alternative-”

He shivered and David knew that this time it was caused by the thought of how close he’d come to losing his leg entirely.

“I didn’t even know they could reattach legs like that,” David said, to fill the silence. 

It was a nasty scar and ran the whole way round Dillon’s shin, as if the bottom half of his leg had just been torn away and then stitched back on, which was essentially what had happened, but it seemed surreal to think that Dillon’s foot and leg had been reattached so successfully. The man could walk and feel his touch and to David it seemed like a miracle. 

“Neither did I,” Dillon replied. “When I woke up the, um, the doctors tried explaining it to me, using words like ‘minimal shortening’ and ‘viable’ and ‘reasonable chance of success’ but then, then I saw it and I just wanted to scream. They told me I’d been lucky, because somehow I managed to grab my own foot after it was… it was...” He shuddered and shut his eyes and David tried to make his movements comforting as he sensed Dillon mentally prepare himself to share what had happened. “I thought I was grabbing a branch or something. Something that would help me stay afloat in the river but... it wasn’t, obviously. But, um, for some reason I held on to it, and made it to shore before passing out, and, and someone saw me and called an ambulance. It was late at night so that was pretty lucky too but, um, it wasn’t until the next morning that they found Sam.”

“I’m so sorry, Dillon,” David whispered, his own voice hoarse with emotion, but Dillon opened his eyes and focused them on David’s. 

“Not your fault,” he told him kindly. “I reckon if you’d been the officer in charge they might’ve got to the bottom of it though. As it was the whole investigation fizzled once they realised a car really did hit us and that the only traffic camera that could’ve helped them wasn’t working at the time of the incident. They thought... um,” his voice wobbled as he tried to continue. “I was actually a, um, a suspect for a while. They thought for a bit that Sam and me, that Sam and me’d had a, um, a fight, and I’d tried to throw him in to the river, only to be pulled down myself. It was all a bit... ” he breathed deep through his nose, his eyes darting away to gaze out the window at the rain soaked night. “It all made me hate cops and the whole system, you know? But I think I’m finally getting past that.”

He gave David a wan smile and David responded with a smile of his own, and a gentle squeeze of Dillon’s thigh. The skin there was just so very silky that he couldn’t resist the urge to begin circling his fingers over it again, and Dillon’s breath stuttered at the touch, his eyes becoming glazed and heavy once more, and the bulge increasing in the front of his shorts. When they had been kissing in the kitchen David had told himself that they needed to slow down and take some time to really get to know one another, but now, seeing Dillon hard and needy and vulnerable on the couch, within his reach, he couldn’t think of a good reason not to show him just how wonderful he was, and how much David adored him. At this rate, he mused, he really would have to take a permanent position in Port Evans, just so that he could see Dillon on a daily basis and carry on falling in love with him. More realistically he knew that if, by some miracle, the case was solved tomorrow and he had to pack up and leave again, he’d regret not showing Dillon, at least once, that he was beautiful and worthy of love.

He let his hand creep higher, to brush against Dillon’s sac and feel the soft fabric of his Y-fronts, and Dillon’s hips bucked in answer to the silent question, making up David’s mind for him. Catching Dillon’s eye he moved both hands to the button of his shorts, undoing it slowly and deliberately so that there could be no mistaking his intention. Dillon was breathing hard and his eyes were only half open but they were focused on David and almost, it seemed, daring him to continue, so that was what David did. When he was done with the button he moved on to the man’s flies, still checking that Dillon’s eyes were on his, that he wanted it, and the frantic nod Dillon gave as David paused with his hand on the zipper was the confirmation he needed. 

Dillon was so hard that David worried even the brush of his fingers undoing the zip would set him off but all he did was moan, loudly and with enthusiasm, as his cock was freed of his shorts. It made David’s own cock twitch in response and he pulled the shorts carefully over Dillon’s hips and legs, aware that the majority of the man’s pain centered around his thigh and pelvis, and desperate to give only pleasure, rather than the pain that Dillon seemed to consider a constant companion. With the shorts out of the way he hurriedly removed his own shirt, pulling it over his head rather than wasting time on the buttons, because he knew from experience that being the only one undressed in this sort of situation would be an unnecessary added embarrassment that Dillon didn’t need. He’d thought to take things slow, to work up to the physical stuff over time, if they even were heading toward a physical relationship, but since they were here, he wanted to make sure it was special and meaningful, and something to be treasured. He didn’t want either of them to regret this in the morning. Every time he looked at Dillon he fell even deeper, and was aware that his feelings had raced past simple lust and in to something more serious. He cared about the man. The feeling had been exaggerated by his fear that Dillon might be next on the killer’s list of targets but even so, he thought as he ran his hands up the sides of Dillon’s legs, from his ankles to his hips, even so he thought that he would have fallen for the guy, however their paths had crossed. It filled his heart to bursting with something that felt terrifyingly like love and he let it flow out and fill his entire body as he leant down carefully to kiss the man beneath him. 

The feel of Dillon’s fingers sliding over his bare chest was electrifying and the feel of Dillon’s tongue in his mouth made him want to grind his hips down, to relieve the furious ache, but he didn’t. He was too scared that pressing down on him would cause Dillon pain, so settled for kissing him until neither of them could breathe. When they were both forced to pull back enough to take in gasping gulps of air, Dillon grinned at him with a look of delight and disbelief. 

“God, you’re gorgeous. You know that, right? You know you’re really fucking attractive?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” David shook his head, feeling a new kind of heat rising in his cheeks at being worshipped so blatantly. “I’m currently making out with a guy who could legitimately pass for a god so, you know... I’m a fairly average second place here.”

“Nah,” Dillon whispered, his smile widening as he looked up in to David’s eyes cheekily. “I reckon you’re a, a solid ten.” He stopped to breathe again, his chest heaving in a way that made David want to tear the t-shirt away, so that he could see the stretch of his muscles and ribs. “And up until a couple of days ago, truth be told, I didn’t think I’d ever meet someone I actually wanted to get naked with. It’s a bit of a turn around, to be honest. My head’s still spinning.”

“Should I,” David licked his lips as he thought through his options. “Should I stop? Should I slow down?”

“Hell no,” Dillon told him, grabbing the back of his head to drag him back down so that their noses were touching. “Not unless you want to. I want, um, I want this... I want this to be good, you know? I want... you.”

David thought he could go on kissing Dillon for hours, it felt so right, but his trousers were rubbing against his cock, which was so hard it refused to be ignored, and Dillon was making the most wonderful mewling noises and he knew that if they both wanted this, then it was probably time to move things up a gear. He sat up reluctantly and Dillon tried to follow him with his mouth, his eyelids fluttering for a moment before they opened questioningly, but his expression soon turned wicked when he saw David reach for his belt, and his quick, clever, fingers were soon helping to free him of the last of his clothes until Dillon’s pants and t-shirt were the only things separating them. The urge to rip the last of the man’s clothes from his body was back but David restrained himself. He wasn’t the clothes ripping type and had never considered himself a very passionate lover, but the idea and the image remained in his mind, and he was delighted that he was able to let go and be lustful and hot-blooded, that the passion was inside of him, and that Dillon’s presence brought it to the fore. 

“Can I?” he asked, taking hold of the hem of Dillon’s shirt, and the soft smile he received with the nod of ascent made him feel like he was melting. 

He took his time, peeling the fabric up and kissing the skin he exposed as he went, enjoying the ripple of Dillon’s muscles, his narrow waist, his surprisingly broad shoulders, the smattering of freckles just below his collar bone, it was all glorious and David wanted to savour every inch. Dillon’s body was bucking and squirming beneath him but David tried to keep his pace steady, until he had lifted the t-shirt over Dillon’s head and tossed it aside. He gave the man’s red lips a quick kiss before swooping down to kiss one of his nipples on his way back to the one, final piece of clothing between them. He licked along the line of elastic, looking up to give Dillon his best bedroom eyes, but Dillon groaned dramatically and began to pull the pants off himself, nearly taking out David’s eye with his knee in the process.

“Seriously, I am going to come in my fucking pants if we don’t get things moving,” he said, his voice high pitched and close to a whine. “And I will not, will not live that down. That will be the last time you see me, I’ll move out to that cabin in the middle of the bush and, and, and no one will ever hear from me again. I’ll become a cryptid out of shame! The thirty-two-year-old who came in his pants from kissing! So unless you’re happy with that...”

He couldn’t finish the sentence and David couldn’t do anything but laugh and watch as Dillon wriggled out of the last of his clothes and then gave him a glare, which only made him laugh harder. He lowered himself back down carefully, shivering at the contact of their bodies, and heard Dillon grunt as he carefully pressed their groins together, putting as much weight on to Dillon’s hips as he dared. He hadn’t really considered what they would actually do once the clothes were off and the mucking about was done with, but Dillon seemed to be more than happy with what they were doing so he kept it up, and tried not to lose himself in the slide of Dillon’s cock against his, at least not too soon. 

The whole experience was like a dream, like a fantasy his brain had supplied rather than his real life. He wasn’t like this in real life. He didn’t fall in to bed with potential murder victims he was supposed to be keeping an eye on. He wasn’t even really the sort of person who knew his neighbours, yet here he was, having sex with the man next door, a potential target for a serial killer, who he’d known for less than a week. It was ridiculous, and potentially dangerous, for all sorts of reasons, and the reality of the situation hit him suddenly as Dillon bucked in to him and he felt his body respond in kind.

“Give me a minute?” 

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?” Dillon’s change was immediate and as he lowered his hips, searching David’s face for some sign of what was bothering him, David held back the urge to hug him. He really did need a moment and it would be sending Dillon all sorts of mixed signals if he hugged him just as he was asking for space.

“It’s alright,” he whispered reassuringly, leaning up on his elbows so that they could speak more easily. “Truly, it’s just...” He took a minute to analyse his feelings, and what he needed in order to feel really comfortable with the way things were progressing. He knew that he did want to do this, but he needed to appease the cop in his head as well. “Look. I really like you.”

Dillon gave him another of those soft smiles that made his heart melt. “Yeah, you said. I really like you too but we can stop if you’ve changed your mind.”

He’d angled his chin, looking at David in that way he had, a curiosity verging on suspicion, as if David was a puzzle he was trying to solve, but one he didn’t want anyone to know he hadn’t figured out yet.

“I don’t want to stop,” David told him truthfully, trying to choose his words with care. “I really do like you, more than I realised I did, more... fiercely than I realised as well, but... I don’t know your... history? And you don’t know mine. So I think if we’re going to do this it would be best to use... protection. Don’t you?”

He hadn’t known how Dillon would react but the grin that stretched across the man’s face was just what he’d hoped for, and he backed away, looking for his trousers, as Dillon lay back on the couch, stretching out like a cat and showing off his naked form as he did so. He really was the most attractive man David had ever had the privilege of seeing naked and he rushed to dig through his pockets, searching for his wallet and the emergency rubbers and lube therein. The fact that Dillon had been so ready to stop, to do what needed to be done so that David felt comfortable, the fact that he cared, had sealed the deal for him, and he turned back to Dillon with condoms in hand and a renewed sense of reverence and affection for the man. He was strong, stronger in mind and body than he gave himself credit for, but he was kind and generous as well, and David felt himself begin to fall again, closer and closer, until the thought that he might love Dillon Kelly wasn’t so terrifying at all.


	9. Chapter 9

Dillon woke slowly, his brain a fuzzy jumble of dreams and memories. He stretched out as best he could, stopping just short of what he wanted, knowing that if he tried to really arch his back the pain would kick in before he was ready to cope with it. His muscles already ached more than usual and it took him a minute to remember why. He smiled lazily, replaying the last moments of the previous night. David had dragged out the pleasure until Dillon had felt tears in his eyes, but it had been worth it, so worth it, and when he’d finally come down from his orgasm, shaky and needy and clinging to David like he was the only thing anchoring him to the earth, begging him not to go, David had kissed him and helped him limp to bed, and had promised to stay.

A shift in the bed beside him gave answer to the question that had formed in his mind and he felt his grin widen as a pleasant buzz began to run through his body. He opened his eyes when he heard the dark, velvety chuckle, and looked up in to the smiling face of David Sharma.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice a little rusty. “How’re you?”

David smiled. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” Dillon smiled, leaning up on his elbows. “Pretty good. Last night was...” he left the sentence hanging, trying to find a descriptor that was even half accurate, but David just chuckled again and leant in close to kiss the corner of his mouth before pulling back again to look at him affectionately.

“Pretty good?” he offered with a twitch of his lips, and Dillon wished he could smile wider without it physically hurting. He hadn’t felt like this for so long and it was too much for him to contain within his frail, breakable, body. His heart felt like it was singing and he wanted the share the joy, but wasn’t sure how best to go about it.

“Yeah,” he told David, trying for cool and composed and failing miserably. “Pretty fucking memorable actually. Thanks for that. And for staying. You didn’t have to and I appreciate that you did.”

“Well.” David said slowly, as if considering the situation seriously, even though Dillon could see the laughter in his eyes. “It was raining pretty hard. Still is, actually.” He pointed up at the ceiling as if Dillon might have missed the fact, but Dillon just pulled a face at him and settled back against the pillows. David Sharma, he wasn’t surprised to learn, wasn’t great at extended sincerity, but that was okay, because neither was he, and the man had a wicked sense of humour that Dillon wanted to see more of. He ruffled his hair as David’s smile returned and began to blush when the man leant across to muss his hair as well. “Besides,” he said warmly, “I didn’t want to miss seeing your morning look. I figured it would be adorable and I have not been disappointed.”

Dillon’s blush increased as he realised what he must look like, with his hair tangled around his head like it was most mornings, but frowned when he realised that David had woken up before him.

“I didn’t have you pegged as a morning person,” he stated but David just grinned and held up the coffee mug from where it had been hidden on the bedside table.

“I’m not. But it’s not that early in the morning,” he said and Dillon sat back up, trying to judge how late it was without his phone. He had no idea where his mobile had ended up and without it he had no way of knowing the time. “Strangely I woke up fairly early, and in a less foul mood than usual,” David continued. “So I made myself a coffee and came back here, so you’d know I hadn’t snuck out or anything like that. And while I was waiting for Sleeping Beauty to wake up I made myself useful.”

He held up a corner of the flag and Dillon blinked. He hadn’t realised that his rainbow flag was spread out over their duvet, and seeing it whole with little proof that it had ever been ripped apart filled him with too many emotions to process.

“Fuck. He whispered. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m having rotten luck tracking the thief or retrieving any of your stuff but I can do this at least.”

Dillon’s hand went automatically to rub across his knuckles and his empty ring finger but he tried to hide the action from David, though he feared he wasn’t quick enough. He didn’t think much got past that man.

“So is today your day off or something?”  
David let out a huffed breath of laughter and settled himself down in the bed so that their shoulders were touching.

“No. I’m just being lazy and putting off the inevitable moment when I have to leave this bed and this little pocket of peace, and you. Usually Finlay, Detective Finlay, would have called me by now, to hassle me out of bed and inform me of all the tasks she’s set for me.” He rolled his eyes and then up on to his side to run his hand over Dillon’s chest. “She’s good though, clever and dedicated and everything else a detective should be. She loves her town and makes the folk who live here her priority”

His eyes seemed to lose their focus as the words trailed away and Dillon lay still, worried that if he spoke or moved David would stop stroking his chest and running his fingers through the sparse hair that grew there. His body had started responding to David’s touch immediately, but even though his cock was growing hard and the need was building in his belly, he was content to lie with their bodies touching and David’s hand warming his skin. David had turned suddenly pensive and he couldn’t fathom why but didn’t want to break his concentration.

After several minutes of silence David blinked rapidly and seemed to come back to himself. He smiled slowly and Dillon tried to understand why there seemed to be a sadness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, even though he worried that he wouldn’t like the answer.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just... promise me you’ll stay safe? I don’t want you running out in the dark after intruders or putting yourself in danger or-”

“Yeah, I won’t be doing that again,” Dillon smiled, willing David to smile too. “It’s the, um, stupidest thing I’ve done in a long time. I’ll leave catching the bad guys to you, I promise.” He waited for the tension to leave David’s body but it didn’t, and he didn’t smile. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Hmm?”

David raised his eyebrows, as if his mind had wandered, and Dillon’s worry increased, but then David began to move his hand again, sliding it lower, from Dillon’s chest to his stomach and then down lower still, following the dark trail of hair from Dillon’s belly button until his hand brushed over his half hard cock. He didn’t complain when David began to stroke him, didn’t have any desire to complain when David began to kiss his neck, and when David’s leg slid between his two, adding an extra layer of delicious friction to the pleasure he was already giving, Dillon decided that he didn’t need to know what had been bothering his new lover, and decided to just lie back and let his body be worshipped if that was what David wanted to do.

*

The banging on the door made them both jump and David didn’t need to look to know that Dillon was poised and ready to either fight or run, despite the fact that it was highly unlikely that the intruder, or the killer, would come knocking at the door during the day. He gave the man a reassuring smile as he crossed to open it and was rewarded with a blush as Dillon went back to pulling his wet hair up in a bun. David had never understood that particular style before but Dillon had explained that for him it was about practically more than fashion. He had long hair and hadn’t managed to work up the courage to visit the local barber, he’d admitted that morning after their shower, and David had watched that stubborn chin jut forward on cue as Dillon prepared to defend himself from mockery, but David had no intention of teasing him. The bun suited him, it showed off his face, so he’d spent some minutes kissing the shame away, until the smile was back and the tension had drained from Dillon’s shoulders.

There was no time to kiss away the tension now though, so David just walked as quickly as he could to the front door and opened it with the chain still in place, just as Dillon always did. Finlay hadn’t figured highly on the list of people he’d been expecting to see, though she didn’t look surprised to see him.

“I tried to call you,” she told him without preamble, and David quickly removed the chain and opened the door properly, though he didn’t invite her in.

“I didn’t get it, sorry,” he said in a low voice because Finlay wasn’t smiling, a rare occurrence which meant that whatever she had to tell him was serious, and best not overheard.

“One of the mobile towers went down in the storm last night, so a lot of stuff hasn’t been getting through,” she shrugged. “That’s why I called the landline, but no answer there either. It was quite the mystery until I drove out here and saw your car parked in front of Dillon Kelly’s place. Is everything all right? He hasn’t had any more problems has he?”

“No,” David said too quickly, and hated the knowing smile he saw creeping on to Finlay’s face. “No, he’s fine. He’s just had a hard time of it and needed some company. Plus I wanted to ask him a few questions about the hit-and-run he was involved in. The video evidence that would’ve confirmed his story was missing because the cameras were down at the two closest intersections, which is odd, and it just got me thinking, after what we noticed on the library security footage. I wanted to know if there was anything else, something he didn’t tell police at the time.”

He could tell that she didn’t quite believe him but she didn’t comment. Besides, it was a fair point. The library footage Martin White had brought in to them had seemed ordinary enough at first, just people coming and going, the row of public computers visible in the background, which was what they were really looking at. But occasionally, they had noticed, there were jumps, like faults in the tape, except that it wasn’t recorded on a tape, it was all electronic, which had made the jumps suspicious. They were at seemingly random intervals, once or twice during the day, a few times in the evening, then again in the middle of the night when no one should have been there in the first place. They were the tiniest blips, only just noticeable when the footage was being played in fast motion, but they were there - moments of time that had disappeared, like someone didn’t want to be caught on camera.

Finlay had organised to meet with White that evening and before he’d arrived at Dillon’s and become thoroughly distracted, David had been keen to hear what more she might learn about the library security system and who had access to it.

“Well, Martin’s making me a comprehensive list of everyone who has access to the staff area of the library and the security system. He seemed pissed that someone had interfered with his precious computers so we should hear from him sooner rather than later. He’s a fast mover when it’s a matter of personal pride.” She rolled her eyes but still didn’t smile so David waited as patiently as he could for her to move on to the next piece of information. “But my reason for calling you, Sharma, is because the officers assigned to watching Mark Chen called in this morning to say that they’d lost track of him.”

“What?”

“No one’s seen him in over twelve hours, not since he went in to the local pub in Port Coogan at about six p.m. Our officers watched the entrance but never saw him leave. They went in at closing to check the premises but he wasn’t there and the staff couldn’t say when they’d last seen him, or who he’d been with. His car was still parked in the street but they thought he might have walked home so they left the scene and went to check his house. There was nothing to indicate that Chen made it home from the pub and no trace of where he might be.”

“They thought he might have walked home?” David queried, his brain already beginning to fill with noise as the facts of the case crowded in and demanded to be seen and heard and remembered. “In the rain we had last night?”

“To be honest I think they were starting to panic,” Finlay shrugged. “They didn’t want to be roasted for not checking every possibility I guess. It’s not every day we get a fancy city detective looking over our shoulders.” She chose that moment to look over David’s shoulder in to the house and finally cracked a smile as she raised a hand to wave at Dillon. “G’day Mr. Kelly. I’m Detective Finlay, not sure that we’ve met. I trust you haven’t had any more trouble from unwanted visitors and that officer Sharma here has been treating you with the respect and care we expect of all our coppers out here in Port Evans. He’s the new boy after all and he’s still learning the ropes. You let me know if he needs any extra training and I’ll be right on him.”

David turned in time to see Dillon begin to blush, his cheeks turning red as his eyes widened and his lips pursed. David wasn’t sure that Finlay knew what had gone on between them, or whether she could just see the sparks flying between them, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was poking fun and he didn’t like seeing Dillon embarrassed, even if it made him look entirely huggable.

“That’s enough, Finlay,” he grumbled, morphing instantly in to the senior detective with little sense of humour. “Go start the car, I’ll be right out.”

She gave him a tongue-in-cheek salute as she left and when David turned back he saw that Dillon had been watching the interaction with interest.

“She doesn’t act much like your boss,” he observed. “She acts like she’s just playing.”

David sighed. “She does. But detectives are a weird breed.”

“They don’t wear uniforms for a start,” Dillon pointed out, raising his eyebrows at David’s shirt and black trousers, but he didn’t push the question further, giving David time to weigh his options.

He hadn’t thought much about the uniform. The story they were telling people was that he was waiting for his uniform to arrive, which was actually true, because the transfer had happened quicker than a uniform could be sent, but it seemed so obvious that David was tempted to lie just to seem more convincing. Only, he didn’t want to lie to Dillon. He wanted to tell him everything but knew that he didn’t have time to do it properly, and rushing the facts would almost definitely cause Dillon more anxiety than he needed.

Instead he crossed to where Dillon stood, leaning on his cane in the centre of the kitchen, the boiling kettle forgotten as he waited to hear what David chose to tell him. David didn’t want to see him narrow his eyes in suspicion, he was too beautiful for that, and deserved to live a life without fear, but David wasn’t sure he could give him that. He ran his hand up the length of Dillon’s arm to grasp his shoulder, hoping that the move came across as reassuring rather than pushy or condescending and tried to hold eye contact as he spoke, though Dillon’s eyes seemed to dart about, looking at his lips, his throat, his chest, his hair, searching constantly for a clue to the truth.

“Despite the story going around town, I am not here to take over Finlay’s position as senior detective. In my last job I wasn’t a uniform police officer, I was plain clothes. But a uniform has been ordered for me and when it arrives I will wear it. Probably. I don’t know, maybe I’m just one of those rogue cops who drink whiskey and smoke cigars and are always getting in trouble with the boss.”

“And getting fired by the middle of the episode because they don’t play by the rules,” Dillon joined in, his smile resurfacing as David’s hand slid upwards to cup his cheek. “Like, _‘You’re off the case, Sharma! There’s no room on this force for a man who don’t know when he’s beat, see!’_ But they always catch the bad guy in a dramatic stand off and get reinstated with honours at the end of the story because they’re still the best, even if they’re a rogue. Is that you?”

David grinned and leaned in close so that his lips brushed against Dillon’s as he spoke. “Definitely.”

Finlay’s insistent car horn ended the kiss and David sighed as he collected his belongings and headed for the door.

“I don’t know what my day will be like today but I’ll text you, alright? And you’ll text me if you need anything?” He knew he sounded a little over-the-top but he needed Dillon to know that he could contact him, and that if he had his way they’d still be in bed, rather than saying goodbye, but Dillon just nodded indulgently and waved him out the door. And then locked it once he was outside.

David tried to compose himself as he walked down the drive to Finlay’s car. He considered telling her to go on ahead, that he’d take his own car to the scene, but it wasn’t worth the ribbing she’d no doubt give him at the first opportunity. Besides which, as good as his knowledge of Port Evans had gotten over the week, he knew very little about Port Coogan and was liable to get lost on his way to the local station, even with GPS. Realising that there was no choice to be made, he opened the passenger door and climbed in, hoping he’d be able to keep the conversation on the case.

“So... Dillon Kelly then,” Finlay remarked when they were barely a hundred meters down the road. “Not like you to be up and dressed and out and about so early. Did you go over to his this morning or last night?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he told her, though with no real anger. He’d be asking the same questions if their situations were reversed. “How did your date with White go?”

“It wasn’t a date, Sharma,” she scoffed, though David fancied he could detect just a hint of embarrassment as she said it. He knew there was some history there, but it wasn’t the mystery he was supposed to be focused on. “I told him about what we’d noticed on the footage and he said he’d get us more information. He’s being helpful. He likes being helpful.”

“If he’s a problem for you we can just get someone else to deal with him. Ask someone from uniform.”

She glanced in his direction, as if not sure he was being serious.

“I don’t reckon that’d work. Things are different out here, city boy. I can’t just hold this job title and expect everyone to happily go along with it. I can’t just prove myself once and expect folks to respect me. It’s every day, proving I’m strong enough and capable enough. If I start asking other officers to deal with annoying men for me...” she scoffed. “I’d be palming off all the men in town to uniform for a start, but it’d also be the end of any standing I’ve got at the station, and in town. And besides,” she shot him another glance as they pulled up to the intersection for the highway. “I can handle Martin White. He tried it on with me a while back but he’s a gentleman. He’s got a bit of a crush on Lizzy Elmer actually.”

David frowned, concerned by Finlay’s take on her situation, and by what she’d just said.

“Lizzy Elmer? As in, my landlady, Lizzy Elmer? As in, snake wrangler, park ranger, full-time girlfriend to Bec Gilchrist? That Lizzy Elmer?”

“That’s the one,” Finlay replied with a grin, turning out on to the highway toward Port Coogan.

“Does he not know that she’s gay?”

He saw Finlay blink at the word. It was just the smallest of movements, but reminded him that even the most open minded and accepting people out here weren’t used to hearing someone talk casually about being gay. The marriage law was still new and this part of the country had been split fifty-fifty on it. It was going to be a few more years before Port Evans had its own Pride march, he reckoned, especially when one of the locals was potentially a serial killer targeting the gay community.

“I don’t think he’s serious,” Finlay shrugged. “He’s just, you know, old fashioned.” David grunted in response but Finlay just grinned. “He was curious about you though. Kept asking me why you were walking around, acting like you owned the place when you’re supposed to be my underling. I nearly spilled the beans just to get him off my back.”

“What?”

“I didn’t though,” she added quickly, her eyes fixed on the road as David glared at her. “I said nearly. I’m not an idiot. I don’t go around blabbing stuff to the public. He was on my case is all I’m saying, and I had to fob him off with a story about you needing time to learn the hierarchy. He’s harmless anyway, but I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Good,” David said firmly. “This is too important, do you understand? This killer, Chen or Gillman, whoever he is, has murdered at least five men. It’s easier for me if people underestimate my importance and think I’m just a new local cop. It stops our killer from deciding to cut his ties and move on before we can catch him because he doesn’t know there’s anyone looking for him.”

He stopped when he realised he sounded angrier than he was. It wasn’t Finlay he was annoyed with, not really. It was himself, because he wanted to tell Dillon the truth, even though he knew it went against his own rules. And because if Chen was their killer, and he’d done a runner, then this entire operation had been a waste of time and he was going to have to deal with a lot of angry commissioners and probably get the dressing down of his life. He couldn’t dwell on that now, of course, because they were already driving through the outskirts of Port Coogan and he had other, more pressing matters to deal with, like getting to the bottom of Chen’s sudden disappearance.

There was still something bothering him though, and he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed quickly, avoiding Finlay’s glances as he did so.

“Hello?”

“Lizzy?” David answered when the call connected, looking out the window so that he didn’t have to see the curiosity on Finlay’s face, or the inevitable, knowing, grin. “Hi, it’s David.”

“Yeah, hi,” she responded, the concern immediately apparent in her voice. “What’s up? Is there a problem? Is Dillon alright?”

“He’s okay,” David told her, “but he got in to a bit of a panic last night and it looks like I’m going to have a long day at the station today, so I was wondering if you would mind just checking in on him. He can take care of himself, I know but...” he paused, aware that the two women listening were drawing their own conclusions about his feelings for Dillon, but not sure how that could be avoided. “I’d just feel better if you could stop by and see how he’s coping.”

“I think that could be arranged,” Lizzy answered, her tone softening until David could just about hear her affection. “I’ve got a few things to do in town but I’ll give him a call and bring him some lunch. Would that suffice?”

“Thanks,” David said shortly. “That’d be great. Bye, Liz.”

He hung up and tried to ignore the female chuckling he’d been hearing in stereo, but Finlay wasn’t going to let him ignore her for long.

“That was very... sweet?” she was looking at him, her shoulders shaking as she tried to contain her amusement, but David wasn’t in the mood.

“Shut up, Finlay,” he muttered darkly, but she ignored him, and he closed his eyes as if that could block out her words.

“No, it’s sweet, city boy! Have you guys got a gift registry set up yet? Or are you going to do, like, a wishing well type thing?”

“What are you talking about, Finlay?”

“For your wedding?”

He closed his eyes tightly and then pinched the bridge of his nose for good measure. “You are so close to getting a bollocking, Finlay, I swear to god. Just get us to Chen’s place and give the jokes a rest.”

“We’re here, sir. I’m just waiting on you to get out of the car.” David’s eyes snapped open as he registered that they had indeed stopped moving and were parked on a wide, unassuming, residential street. He couldn’t afford to be so off his game, especially when the game kept changing before he’d figured out the rules. Finlay’s smile faded to something more understanding then, just for a moment. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. We don’t know if Chen’s done a runner, or if he’s even our man. Dillon’ll be fine ‘til you get back, Sharma, truly.”

David nodded and swallowed the worry that had been building in his throat. He had work to do and he couldn’t let his feelings get in the way.


	10. Chapter 10

What Dillon wanted to do was to keep pacing around the house, making laps from the kitchen to the lounge room and back again, but his leg was hurting too much and Lizzy had already told him off twice for trying to do more than his body was capable of. They’d been getting along fine at first and Dillon had actually been delighted at being able to tell someone about his night with David, though he tried not to go in to too many details. He’d been giddy and slightly overwhelmed by the emotions flooding his mind and making him dreamy and excited by turns. He and David’d had a morning to almost rival the night before and he’d still felt loose limbed and post-orgasmic hours later when Lizzy stopped by with lunch, so he’d told her everything.

She’d been equally excited of course, wanting to hear all the details, but his happiness and confidence had come crashing down when she happened to mention that she hadn’t expected to see Dillon looking so content, given David’s phone call to her that morning.

“But, but why would he call you?” he asked for at least the fifth time, though by the way she rolled her eyes Lizzy would probably say the hundredth. “What? Does he think I’m a child that needs to be, to be coddled? Does he really think I can’t look after myself? That I need you coming to check on me everyday?”

“He called me because I told him to,” Lizzy said with the forced patience of someone who had been repeating herself for as long as Dillon had been asking the question. “Call me at the first sign of trouble, I told him. Any time, day or night, if Dillon’s not doing well, call me. That’s what I told him. You can’t get mad at him for doing what I asked him to, not when he was worried about you.”

“But I’m fine,” Dillon tried to insist, which was difficult considering how tight his chest was feeling just then.

Lizzy just gave him a look. It was one she had used to give when he turned up to tutorials looking like death after a night spent cramming desperately for that day’s test and practically vibrating from caffeine. She’d mothered everyone in their tutor group, so much so that they’d nicknamed her ‘The Hen’ but Dillon didn’t want her thinking he couldn’t take care of himself. He’d moved away from the city for a lot of reasons but among them had been a desire to take back some control of his life. He’d spent too long at the mercy of nurses as he was recovering and needed to relearn how to take care of himself, and how to be alone. Over the last six months he’d learnt how to wake up alone each morning, how to sit and drink his coffee on the back porch with only the magpies for company, and how to fall asleep at night with no one to snuggle up to when the house creaked and the bad dreams struck. He’d figured out the bus timetable and how to get to the grocer’s and the cafe and the doctor’s office. He’d learnt to manage and he thought he’d done a damn fine job of it actually, but the few people he’d let in to his little world hadn’t been impressed, they’d pitied him, and it rankled horribly.

“Will you just sit down for a bit and let me explain, please?” Lizzy asked him with a sigh and Dillon turned to see that she actually looked a lot more worn out than usual. He had been about to tell her that he really didn’t anyone coddling him, but bit his tongue and sat down obediently instead, worried that there was something more going on in her life that he didn’t know about.

“What’s wrong, Liz?” he asked, taking her hand. Her usually strong grip was lacking and she’d suddenly turned away from him, as if she regretted showing him that she wasn’t as capable and in control as she seemed. “Lizzy, please tell me what’s wrong?”

She suddenly looked terrified and Dillon shuffled closer, cursing himself for being so self-centered. Lizzy had been kind and generous to a fault while he had done very little to be worthy of such friendship.

“The thing is... Bec and I...” she let out a huff and frowned at the floor as if trying to put her words in the right order in her mind before she tried to say them. “I didn’t want to burden you with all this but the fact is... I bought her a ring this morning. And I swore the woman in the shop to secrecy but it’s Margret and she’s a regular at the bowls club and there is only so long before she tells everyone what I’ve done so I need to propose to Bec as soon as humanly possible but I have no idea how to do that!”

Dillon was floored. He stared at her, mouth open, blinking furiously, trying to process what she’d said and how he was supposed to feel and drawing a blank. Lizzy was going to ask Bec to marry her. Lizzy was going to marry Bec. They were going to exchange rings and kiss and live happily ever after. Just like he’d thought he and Sam would. That was his first thought. Then a smile began to creep on to his face, without him even realising, and tears sprang to his eyes, because she deserved to be happy and he was so glad that she was.

Right at that moment of course, she looked terrified and Dillon let out a laugh that was almost a cackle as he watched her face, especially her surprise when he leant forward to hug her.

“Oh, you two are going to make the sweetest little married couple,” he told her as he held her tight, but Lizzy shook her head and pulled back, looking almost frantic with worry.

“Not if I can’t figure out how to actually ask her, Dill. I need to ask her and I have no idea how. What do I do?”

Dillon bit his lip to keep from grinning at her distress and shook his head. “I am the wrong person to ask, I’m afraid. My experience of dating and partners is limited and my experience in proposing is non-existent. Sorry, Love.” Lizzy groaned but Dillon couldn’t keep his smile from returning. He didn’t often get to see Lizzy like this and it made a pleasant change, especially when he saw that beneath her dramatic insistence that she didn’t know what to do, she was humming with excitement. “How did you two get together?”

“Well,” she blushed. “I went to work for the park, but the pay’s rubbish and I suddenly found myself with only two days when I’d originally been promised four and Bec was my supervisor there, because she was the only other person there, and she offered me some work with her other business, catching snakes.” Dillon grinned hearing her state it all so matter-of-factly and wondered how much blushing and stuttering had been part of those early conversations. “I was absolutely smitten from the first time I saw her,” Lizzy continued, “she’s like a… a vengeful pixie, you know? Like Tinkerbell but in plaid,” she blushed, “but I didn’t know how to ask her if she was, you know, gay. And so I was dropping all these hints and it turned out she was also dropping all these hints because she wasn’t sure whether I was in to girls, and neither of us were getting anywhere and it was just miserable, for about four months. Four whole months, can you believe it?”

Dillon thought back to the fact that he’d spent last night making love to a man he’d only met four days ago and shook his head. He’d never moved so fast before but even his slowest courtship and flirting period hadn’t been that long.

“So what happened?”

“Oh, she invited me over for dinner and a movie,” Lizzy explained. “And I didn’t realise it was actually a date. I hoped it was but didn’t really believe it could be, you know? So I got myself all dressed up, best flannel, tightest jeans, a bra with an underwire in it,” she grinned at Dillon, aware of her own ridiculous behaviour, and he could only return the grin and shake his head at her, totally engrossed in the story. “So I get there and she opens the door wearing this low cut blouse and looking absolutely stunning and I was trying really hard not to stare because I didn’t want to be a creep if this was just a friendly dinner and maybe she didn’t realise that she was wearing something really sexy but... then she led me in to the kitchen and poured me a glass of wine... and after the third glass I finally got up the courage to tell her that I really, really liked her. In a gay way. And she...”

“She what?” Dillon demanded, desperate to know what had happened next even though he knew that it must have worked out if they’d been living together for five years.

“She kissed me,” Lizzy said dreamily. “And didn’t stop for about four hours. I didn’t see any of the film. I don’t even remember what it was. All I remember is Bec telling me she liked me, in a lesbian way, and kissing my brains out. I wish I’d been brave enough to tell her sooner.”

Dillon wet his lips and stared at the love he saw in his friend’s eyes. He wasn’t sure he felt that with David but he certainly felt something. And they’d managed to make it past the point of confessing their mutual attraction, which was apparently a big milestone, but Dillon didn’t think they were ready for much else. He’d learnt quite a bit about the man over the last few days, and he definitely liked him, but there was still so much that he didn’t know, and things that he needed to know more about before he was willing to really let himself fall in love. David seemed to have a protective streak that bordered on possessive and Dillon wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with that, but he could sort out those feelings later, he decided, when he wasn’t trying to plan the perfect proposal for his friend to the woman of her dreams.

“Well,” he said after some thought. “I definitely think you should propose sooner rather than later. You two are made for each other; you don’t want to waste any more time.”

“So I should take a leaf out of your book then?” she asked with a waggle of her eyebrows. “I don’t think we’ve ever tried doing it in the shower and you guys hopped to it in the first twenty-four hours. Maybe I should try that? Maybe I should propose to Bec after a sexy scrub?”

“No,” Dillon told her drolly, trying not to rise to the bait even as his cheeks began to burn a bright red. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Not unless you both want to end up cold, wet and with soap in your eye. Skip the shower, kiss her, tell her you love her, ask her to marry you.”

Lizzy smiled at him and Dillon wondered why she seemed to look so proud, like he’d done something worthy of her approval.

“I might give her a quick call now, actually. Ask her what she wants for dinner. D’you mind?”

She was already on her feet with her mobile in hand and Dillon shook his head and smiled as she headed out to the back porch to make her call. He took out his own phone and looked at the screen. There hadn’t been any texts from David so far and he debated as to whether he should be the first to send one. He didn’t want the man to think he was easy, or that he belonged to David somehow, but he also felt an overpowering urge to make contact with him, even just to say hello. So he did, and hoped it didn’t come across as needy, because he wasn’t sure that he was ready for David to know just how much he did like him.

*

_‘Hello. How r things?’_

David stared at the message and then up at the scene around him. Things were not good. Mark Chen’s home looked like the home of a man who intended to return. There were clothes sitting wet in the washing machine and a budgie trilling in a cage in the lounge room. There were photographs on the wall and notes on the fridge and David felt his heart drop like a stone to his stomach. On paper Mark Chen had fit the profile, every profiler who’d looked at the case had agreed, but in reality David just couldn’t see it. He should have gone in person to do surveillance on the guy. It didn’t matter that it had been something he was rostered on for the very next day, it was too late now and he should have made it a priority. Now Mark Chen was missing and he didn’t honestly expect that they’d find him alive.

“Chen’s not our man.”

Finlay looked up from her notebook in confusion. “How can you say that? There’s no evidence either way. What happened to keeping our view wide and considering all options?”

“No,” David shook his head. “There’s no evidence of a killer. There’s a note on the fridge reminded him of a video call with his son next week. We thought he was estranged from his gay son; our profile was built on that fact. And there’s a flier in his bedroom, did you see it? A support group down in the city for people coming out later in life. There is evidence here, but not of a killer.”

Finlay put her hands on her hips and planted her feet as if expecting a fight but David suddenly didn’t have the energy for an argument. It just felt true. And he knew that was no way to run an investigation but this whole case had been a series of dead ends and clues that didn’t add up and profiles which should have fit but never did. He’d let his excitement run away with him too many times, thinking he had found the piece that would solve the whole puzzle, and now he just felt old and tired.

“But we know he’s on the dating site,” Finlay pointed out. “This other stuff might be a cover, or his way of finding out more about his potential victims. You said we were looking for someone who pretended to be gay to lure his victims. He still fits.”

In reply David walked across to where Chen’s laptop sat open on the table, and pressed the mouse pad with his finger. If he’d had to turn it on he might have run in to trouble, but it was on from the night before and only needed to be woken up. When Finlay came to look the page of the dating site was displayed and they read through it together, seeing the various conversations and dates, the connections that had been built. Eventually Finlay sighed and stepped back.

“He had a date lined up last night,” David said with little emotion. “But with who? We entered this house on a suspicion that a crime had been committed but my suspicion now is that Chen was the victim.”

“You think he’s dead?”

David didn’t want to answer. He’d been so focused on Dillon and the likelihood that he would be the next victim that he hadn’t considered who else might be in danger. And now it was too late and another man was dead. Finlay was waiting for an answer but he couldn’t give her one and strode out to the front of the house, calling together the uniform officers harshly, the rage within like a gnawing hunger. Good, he thought. Rage would keep him moving at least.

“Ladies and gentlemen, listen up,” he said, just loud enough for the officers and not the curious neighbours who had started to appear on the footpath. “Some of you may know me, but for those who don’t, my name is Detective Sergeant Sharma and I am heading up this investigation. And I need this place searched from top to bottom. Anything suspicious comes straight to me. And I want the neighbours interviewed, along with anyone Mark Chen had regular contact with. As of now we are treating this as a suspicious disappearance, possibly connected to the other deaths we’ve been investigating over the last few weeks. So,” he paused to let the murmur die down before continuing. “We’re also going to need a team out searching too. We need people on the ground searching anywhere a body’s likely to be dumped.”

“That’s pretty vague, sir,” one of the officers said with just a tinge of annoyance. “Don’t you have any more for us to go on? I thought we were watching this guy as a suspect, not a victim? Now you’re saying we’re looking for a body?”

David’s heart had already been in his stomach but now it seemed to sink deeper, a burning coal, eating him out from the inside. But they were right, and they deserved to know as much as he could tell them.

“It’s possible that we got it wrong. That I got it wrong. It happens. And I will no doubt deal with the fall out from that. But right now we have to work fast to find out what’s happened to Chen. So far our killer has dumped his victims close to where he’s killed them, as far as we can tell, so the search team should start here and fan out. The killer seems to favour construction sites, derelict buildings and...” he shivered, as if he’d suddenly been doused in icy water. The run off from last night’s storm was rushing down the gutter beside him, carrying twigs and leaves and other debris along with it, and somewhere in his brain it seemed to fit. “...and rivers. We’ll need to do a thorough search of the rivers and waterways and bridges. Especially since last night’s storm will be moving things out to sea more quickly than it otherwise might. Coogan Creek needs to be a priority. Detective constable Paget will assign you your tasks,” he nodded toward Port Coogan’s resident plain-clothes officer. “I’ll be going back over the scene at the pub but my phone will be on and everything you find must come through me. I’m sick of being given the run around by this bastard. So it’s time to take him down.”

There were several nods but some of the faces looking back at him were still skeptical and he didn’t blame them, but he didn’t have time to convince them either and walked swiftly down to Finlay’s car, hoping she was following him or he’d look a right idiot. He felt sick, and resisting the urge to pull at his hair or kick the car was getting beyond his control, but he couldn’t show that sort of weakness. He had a job to do. Last night he had lost control for the first time in so long, allowing himself to be soft and give his emotions free reign, but he couldn’t let it bleed in to his working life or he’d never find the bastard who was running around the countryside garroting gay men.

Finlay arrived at the car at a trot with a questioning look but David couldn’t explain. His mind had slipped back to Dillon despite every effort to keep his mind on the case. He’d never been so overwhelmed by anyone and it felt strangely uncomfortable. He took out his phone as Finlay pulled the car away from the curb, to stare at Dillon’s message, but he still didn’t know how to answer it.

“Sir,” Finlay said cautiously, staring resolutely ahead as rain began to patter lightly on the windscreen. “I know you may not like this, but... if Chen is a victim then our profile for the killer is wrong. Which puts motive in doubt and all our other suspects in doubt-”

“I know, Finlay,” David snapped. “I know. And it’ll be my head on the chopping block because of it, even if the top profilers in the country signed off on it, it’ll still be me who faces the wrath.”

“Well that’s as may be,” Finlay said with a shrug, her face blank as she focused on the road and the rain. “But what I was going to say before you interrupted me was that if the profile’s wrong, then we have to consider other suspects. And I know you like him, and I know he seems like a decent bloke, but...” she sighed after a moment, as if hoping David would cut her off so she wouldn’t have to say it aloud. “I think Dillon Kelly should be added to our list of suspects.”

“No,” David said vehemently. “No, Finlay. I can see where you’re coming from, but no. He doesn’t have the strength for it for a start.”

“It’s his leg that’s injured, Sharma. And those men were all strangled. You don’t need legs for that, and his arms seem plenty strong if you ask me. And I know he’s been back to Adelaide since he moved here, to see his doctors he says, but how do we know that if we don’t at least check on his dates and alibis?”

“He’s basically terrified of the police, Finlay. D’you know that? Us investigating him will destroy all goodwill that he’s regained. He won’t trust us and he won’t co-operate.”

He was grasping, he knew he was, but Finlay’s words had caught him off guard. She shrugged in response to his words, pulled the car up to the curb in front of the pub, and shut off the engine. They sat in silence, watching the rain get heavier and heavier outside, each waiting for the other to give and eventually Finlay let out an exasperated sigh.

“It won’t be just your arse on the line, you know, if we decide to just ignore a potential suspect. I had to raise this, Sharma, you know that. No matches came back on the prints you took at his place, nothing’s surfaced about the stuff he says was stolen, and there wasn’t any sign of forced entry. What if it was just a ploy? We need to look at who he’s been interacting with to see who else might be at risk.”

“No,” David said softly, “we don’t.”

Finlay gripped the wheel tight, as if it was the only thing stopping her from slapping him, and David didn’t blame her, but he couldn’t allow those thoughts to take root in his mind, couldn’t let it be possible. He would have seen something, surely, to suggest that Dillon wasn’t all he seemed. Except, his brain hissed, hadn’t it always felt like he couldn’t quite get a grasp of the man’s character? Hadn’t he always seemed a mystery, and changeable? No. He wasn’t buying it.

“We should at least ask him his whereabouts last night, get an alibi,” Finlay said quietly. “I’ll drop in on him later. You don’t need to be there.”

“But I was there,” David blurted out. His chest was heaving like he’d run an obstacle course and Finlay had turned to look at him with wide, confused, eyes. “Last night I was at his house, with him. I was there the whole night, Finlay, and didn’t leave his side. I woke up in his bed, beside him. Is that enough of an alibi for you?”

“Christ, Sharma,” she hissed. “D’you know how that’s going to look? Bad enough to get off with a victim of a crime you’re looking in to, worse to do it with a potential murder victim, but to spend the night with someone who we now have to suspect of murder? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“He’s not a murderer!” David growled through clenched teeth. “Or a suspect. It’s ridiculous to even suggest it and you know it as well as I do. And yes, I am aware that I have messed up but his private life does not need to become public knowledge and stuck up on the suspect board back in your office. It just doesn’t. I was with him last night; therefore he couldn’t have done it, unless you want to suggest that he and I are in it together. Hmm?”

He wanted her to argue back. It would give him an excuse to yell and he really wanted to, but she didn’t. She just sighed, like she was disappointed, which was infinitely worse than any curse she could throw, and David wanted to shut his eyes and hide. That morning he’d opened his eyes to a world that was bright and full of colour and the potential for so much life. He had been on the precipice, ready to fall in love, head first, and instead seemed to have fallen backwards in to a nightmare. Dillon could not be the killer, he repeated in his head, again and again. Someone who laughed and sighed and stared at him and clung to him and talked back to him and kissed him like Dillon had done could not be a murderer, surely. Except, he realised, that was just the way he felt, it wasn’t a fact. And David Sharma didn’t use his feelings to solve murders; he used the facts and the bare, honest truth, if only he could find it.

“Sir,” Finlay asked, sounded calmer even though she was still gripping the steering wheel hard enough turn her knuckles white. “What time did you arrive at Dillon Kelly’s house?”

“What?” he blinked.

“I asked you what time you arrived at Dillon Kelly’s house last night, sir? We didn’t leave the office until quite late. I didn’t meet up with Martin until half past eight. What time did you arrive at Mr. Kelly’s house, sir?”

“It would have been,” David paused to think, wanting to get his times straight. “Before nine definitely, but probably after eight thirty. I stopped to pick up dinner. Why?”

“No one saw Mark Chen after six thirty in the evening. I don’t have to include that you and he spent the night together but I am going to write in my report that you came to his house with dinner at some point between eight thirty and nine and that, to our knowledge, Dillon Kelly does not have an alibi for the hours between six and eight.”

“Finlay,” he whispered, not sure what he was asking of her, or what he could say to convince her that she was wrong. “It’s not him, Finlay. It’s not.”

“I hope not,” she told him with a solemn look. “But I’m not going to ignore a lead just because you’re caught up in some romance novel. And I’m not going to put the people of my town in danger anymore either, not if I can help it.”

She pushed the door open and exited the car before David could respond and he followed her silently. He had a job to do, after all.


	11. Chapter 11

Dillon was confused. His feelings for David had developed so quickly it frightened him, at a time in his life when he was trying to adjust to being alone and living in a body that had changed a great deal in a short period of time. He couldn’t deny the feelings, didn’t want to deny the feelings, because frankly, being with David made him feel so happy it hurt, and he really wanted to know him better, but he still had his misgivings. 

He didn’t want to fall in love with someone only to discover they were controlling or over-protective. He’d seen that happen, it was the story of his mum and dad’s marriage, and he didn’t want to become trapped, not when he couldn’t physically run away or defend himself. He didn’t want to believe that David would be like that but there had been signs, and he didn’t want to walk blindly in to a relationship. David calling Lizzy and asking her to check in on him had been unexpected and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. His not wanting Dillon to go on another date with Craig was another red flag, and Dillon wasn’t honestly sure whether he wanted to cancel the date, despite what had happened between he and David, because he didn’t want to give the impression that they were now in a fully fledged, monogamous, relationship. One amazing night wasn’t a basis for a relationship based on trust and mutual respect. 

He let out a laugh at his own silly sentimentality and looked out at the scrub beyond his back porch. It was raining lightly again but still hot and muggy enough that sweat had begun to prickle on his brow. He wanted to text David again but suppressed the urge. He had concerns that the man might be a little over-protective, he hardly needed to give him more proof that he was needy and dependent and easily attained. The problem was, really, that there wasn’t a lot to do, especially with limited internet connection, and he had no desire to walk through the rain to the bus when he knew there would be nothing to do in the town once he got there. He had read most of the books Lizzy had provided and had no reason for any baking or cooking. He had a sudden thought to cut his hair but dismissed it; he wasn’t any good at that sort of thing and didn’t want to botch it. There just wasn’t anything to do and when he had nothing to keep him busy his imagination tended to run away with him and make him paranoid.

An unexpected rustling out in the scrub made him gasp, his heart already pounding at the thought that he was about to be attacked, and he tried to tell himself that it was only his imagination messing with his head when there was a perfectly normal, non-threatening reason for the disturbance. He looked closely, trying to figure out where the movement had come from, narrowing his eyes to try and focus his attention, and caught the sudden movement when it came again. It was a patch of brush that was far too short for any human to hide in and the sound, now that he concentrated, wasn’t the sort a person would make. He cocked his head to the side, considering, and then snatched up his cane and ducked in to the kitchen for a tea towel before walking out slowly in to the field behind the house. 

He made his way carefully over the wet rocks and grass, both for his leg’s sake and for the sake of whatever creature was kicking up the fuss and probably dazed if not hurt. He hoped it wasn’t a snake, that was Lizzy’s specialty not his, and it looked too small to be a wallaby or koala, but with any luck...

Dillon smiled down at the small bird that was trying to fly but just couldn’t seem to manage it. One of its wings was sitting oddly and its chest was heaving with such force that Dillon worried it was working itself toward a heart attack. He felt a sudden surge of affection for it, of kinship, because he knew how it felt to think your panic was going to be the end of you, and how frightening it could be, waking up in pain with no way to escape. 

“It’s alright, little one, I’ve got you.” He spoke in a low, singsong voice and tried to kneel down as gently as he could, though it was a hard thing to do and his leg stuck out at an odd angle, refusing to cooperate as usual. “Hey, hey there. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just here to help. Come on, now. Let’s get you warm and dry, shall we? This rain’s no good for either of us.” 

He lay the tea towel down carefully over the shaking bird and scooped it up in to his hands, tucking the fabric around to wrap his patient securely and then held it against his chest, humming softly to try and lessen the panic he could feel. His boss had used to think it was a funny thing that Dillon hummed when working with frightened animals, but it always worked, and it made him feel more confident so he’d never considered changing his tactic, and as he knelt in the scrub, holding the bird only firmly enough so it wouldn’t try to make an escape and hurt itself worse, felt himself becoming calmer too. 

The cabin seemed a very long way away when he looked back at it and the rain was beginning to fall with more force but he couldn’t afford to let his heart rate increase, not when the little patient in his hands was depending on him to remain calm and in control of the situation. He licked his lips, decided on a course of action, and set off. Climbing to his feet while holding the bird with both hands was difficult and he held his cane under his arm. He wouldn’t be able to use it for support but he’d be damned if he was going to leave it out in the middle of the field. Every step sent needles of pain shooting from his hip, some going up into his back, most going down in to his leg. His foot tingled and began to feel heavy and he swore at it for choosing the worst possible moment to go to sleep but paused when he felt the tiny creature shivering against his chest. He had to stay calm and if that meant slowing down and waiting for the nerves in his leg to sort themselves out, again, then that was what he would have to do. 

It seemed to take half the afternoon to get back to the house and then to drag himself up the porch steps and through the kitchen door and he felt close to tears, not from fear or frustration but from the throbbing pain that he could no longer ignore. He limped over to the kitchen table and sat down heavily, trying to breathe deeply, humming a song he didn’t even really know. He’d heard it somewhere but he couldn’t place where or when, and it was a long moment before he realised that it was the tune David had hummed, when he had calmed Dillon during his last panic attack. He smiled. It was a sweet tune and he made a mental note to remind himself to ask David to sing it to him the next time they were alone together.

Feeling a little more centered Dillon reached across the table and overturned the fruit bowl, letting the apples and bananas tumble out, and then set the empty bowl in front of him, ready for his patient. 

“Hello little guy,” he whispered as he gently lowered the tea towel in to the bowl, taking care to keep the bird well supported and shielded from the light. “It’s been a while since I looked after a little native bird. In my job it was mostly budgies and canaries, but don’t worry. I was always the one to look after the natives when they did come in, though back in the city we were mostly dealing with cat attacks and road accidents. I don’t think you fall in to either of those categories but I’ll take good care of you all the same, okay? But first things first I need to know who you are.”

The bird wasn’t shivering so much any more and Dillon took it as a good sign as he carefully lifted the tea towel just enough to study the colours and marking on the delicate head and wings. He smiled again, marveling at the creature’s beauty. It had red on its beak and white spots across it’s dark wings and Dillon could just make out the vibrant red of it’s underside and tail. It cocked it head as if it was examining him too and Dillon felt true calm begin to wash through him at the sight.

“You’re a painted firetail, I reckon,” he told the bird. “And one of the prettiest finches I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. There can’t be many of you around here though. Did you get blown out here in the storm? It was a bit of a shocker by all accounts but truth be told, I missed most of it. I was otherwise engaged, so to speak.” 

He stopped, waiting as the finch cocked its head the other way, and had stifle a laugh when it ruffled its feathers to try and shake out the rainwater.

“I know, we’re both wet through. And it’s finally cooling down again too. This sticky weather’s the worst, I swear. But we can’t let you get cold, not if there’s something wrong with that wing. Trust me, you don’t want to waste time when your limbs are stake, my man, that is the absolute worst.”

He carefully laid a second tea towel over the bowl and limped through to the bedroom to fetch one of the heat packs he used when the meds weren’t enough and he needed something extra to help with the pain. It only needed half a minute in the microwave to be nicely warm and he placed it under the fruit bowl, like a small, cozy coaster, and then checked on his patient again, pleased to see he was no longer shivering from either shock or cold. It felt nice to be needed and especially nice to be caring for an animal again, and he put on the kettle to boil as he planned what to do next. 

He didn’t have any gloves in the house but he did have tweezers and cotton tips and as long as his patient didn’t fuss too much he would probably be able to clean the wing and figure out what was wrong. There had been a little blood but not too much, which boded well, and once he had the little guy settled and comfortable he’d be able to look up the closest animal sanctuary or vet so that he could get him properly looked after. There was only so much he could do, after all, without x-rays and sutures and sterile equipment. When the kettle boiled he set some aside to cool and then went to the loft to track down one of the books on birds native to the area. He had recognised the firetail easily enough but he wasn’t really an expert and it would be good to know more about its habitat and dietary requirements. The stairs were a struggle but he didn’t mind as much as he might’ve done even half an hour ago. It was amazing how being around animals calmed his mind.

Halfway back down the stairs a knock at the door made his jump but didn’t set his heart to racing. It was probably David, he told himself, but as he headed toward the font door another sound caught his attention, like the creak of a floorboard in the kitchen and he span around, his hand on the door knob, the panic hitting him like a boot to the chest as he realised there was someone in the house.

“Martin?” he asked, his voice barely making it out of his mouth as fear squeezed his throat. “What are you doing here?”

“You left your back door open.” 

Bizarrely the larger man seemed almost as startled as he did, which didn’t make sense at all, he’d snuck in to Dillon’s home unannounced after all. Then there was another knock at the door and Dillon realised that it was that which had surprised him, not Dillon, yet why was he there?

“Mr. Kelly, are you there? It’s Detective Finlay with the Port Evans police. I just wanted to have a quick word, if that’s alright.”

At the sound of Finlay’s voice Martin’s eyes widened and for a second Dillon feared the man was about to lunge at him so he hurriedly opened the door, jarring when he tried to pull it without unlatching the chain, his fingers fumbling as he tried to get the door properly open without taking his eyes off of Martin White. He swore viciously under his breath as the chain pinched his finger but finally managed to pull it wide, standing back to allow Finlay to enter, and to allow her to see who was in the house. 

“What you doing here?” Martin asked jovially and Dillon frowned in confusion, especially when the detective smiled.

“My job, Martin. What are you doing here? I didn’t see your car?”

Dillon found himself stepping back a little further, until the door half shielded him from view, suspicion building in his mind. They were talking like he wasn’t there, like Martin had a right to be there and like it was all one big joke instead of asking Dillon for his opinion. He wanted to like Finlay, because David said she was good at her job and a good person, and he wanted to like Martin, because everyone in town said he was a top bloke, but it was hard when they were standing in his home, chatting away like they’d been invited, and not explaining why they were there.

“I’m parked a bit further along,” Martin was telling Finlay. “These drives are just packed dirt and we’ve had so much rain, I didn’t want to end up bogged in and stuck here for the night, you know?”

“And what are you doing here?” Dillon said suddenly, enjoying that they both jumped at the sound of his voice. “You didn’t knock. What d’you want?”

“Calm down, mate,” Martin laughed, putting his hands out in front of himself mockingly, while Finlay turned to give him a laughing smile as well. “I just came to bring you your spare keys. Liz asked me to make another copy, so you’d have a back up. She knows you’re a bit of a worrier and just didn’t want you going to pieces again, I guess.”

“I don’t... I don’t go to pieces,” Dillon tried to defend himself, hating how thin and weak his voice sounded in his own ears. “I didn’t go to pieces. I was, was, was robbed.”

“Yeah, alright. Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just doing you a favour, that’s all.”

Martin strode across the space and held out the keys, stopping just far enough that Dillon had to reach out and grab them. He fairly towered over Dillon and seemed to be enjoying the fact that he was making Dillon uncomfortable. When they’d met previously he’d been a little condescending but friendly enough, but his attitude toward Dillon seemed to have turned cold and Dillon didn’t understand why. 

He took the keys and stuffed them in his pocket and clenched his jaw. He wasn’t going to say anything that made the man think he was invited to stay. He didn’t care if the bloke was friendly with the detective, or if Lizzy had asked him to do a bit more work around the cabin, he wasn’t going to do it now, not if Dillon could help it. He held the door open and glanced through it before looking back at Martin but the man didn’t seem to take the hint. Finlay saw it, however, and patted the man on the back as she steered him toward the exit. 

“Thanks Martin, but I’m going to have to ask you to go. I need to talk to Mr. Kelly about something private, okay?”

“Oh what, like how chummy he’s getting with your new recruit from the city?” Martin said with a grin and wink in Dillon’s direction. “I agree, best to nip that in the bud, for everyone’s sakes. You do a good job, Finlay. This town’s lucky to have you.”

Finlay rolled her eyes and pushed him more firmly toward the door. “Get gone, Martin. And don’t go spreading rumours just for the drama. It’s a pain.”

He left with a laugh and a wave over his shoulder but Dillon didn’t respond, he just slammed the door and locked it, rehooking the chain and sliding the dead bolt before leaning against it with his eyes closed tight, trying to shake the feeling that Martin’s lighthearted comment had actually been something more sinister. 

“You alright, Mr. Kelly?” Finlay asked, her voice just a little too loud for Dillon to be comfortable, and he snapped his eyes open to nod at her. 

“I just need to...” he stared at the open back door and shivered. When had it gotten so dark and so cold? “I just need to lock up.”

He hobbled as quickly as he could in to the kitchen and went through the same processing of bolting the door there but couldn’t help noticing the way Finlay walked in to the small kitchen with a slow swagger, as if she was sizing him up, or showing him up. He tried not to react and went to sit down, choosing the chair opposite his fruit bowl turned nest. Finlay didn’t take a seat straight away, she seemed too busy looking around at the snug cabin and examining the locks, and Dillon wondered if it was a deliberate attempt to put him off balance. He’d seen other cops put on a similar act. They had strolled around his hospital room, reading the messages in his cards, sniffing the flowers, looking over his chart, and generally making him feel sick with worry before they ever got to the questions. He’d seen cops do it better than Finlay was now and decided to simply wait her out, and turned his attention back to the firetail instead. It was no longer shivering and Dillon smiled as it looked up at him questioningly. It had such pretty colouring and seemed so confident and sure, despite the damaged wing, that Dillon felt his calm returning once more. Maybe he needed a pet, he mused. Maybe that would finally help him beat the panic attacks. But for now he was content to help his patient, and he hopped the few steps from his chair to the sink and back again with a small bowl of water. He usually used the bowl for teabags but it was just right for a small finch, not so big that it wouldn’t sit flat in the bowl and shallow but not so shallow that it would make drinking difficult. The heat pack had cooled and so he carefully removed it before setting the water down. He’d let the little guy have a drink and a wash before he did anything else, he decided, watching as the small bird hopped forward to investigate the water.

“What’ve you got there?” Finlay asked, her voice softer than before, and more inquisitive, and without thinking Dillon beckoned her over, smiling as she peered down, her mouth a wide O. “Did you catch it?”

“No,” Dillon whispered, not wanting to startle the bird. “I found it a couple of hours ago. It’s injured its wing and can’t seem to fly so I brought it inside before it died of shock.”

Finlay made a face and leaned back. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

Dillon liked her better when she was making faces and asking questions than when she was posturing and out-grinning Martin White, and gestured for her to take a seat, which she did, her brow still furrowed as she looked at the small, vibrantly coloured bird.

“I used to be a vet’s assistant, um, in my past life,” Dillon told her, looking down as he did so. “Birds get nervous easily and shock is as big a killer of injured birds as the actual injuries are. They’re like us, really. And they get nervous easily, like us. But this little guy’s doing well now. He just needed some warmth and dark and a safe space to start feeling better. I’m not sure about his wing, I thought maybe it was broken, but he’s moving it, see,” he pointed out the way the small bird was ruffling its feathers and trying to wash itself, splashing the water about with it’s beak and cocking it’s little head at him when it realised he was watching. “It might be there’s just a few broken feathers and surface damage, which stopped him from flying, which means he’ll heal up good as new soon enough.”

“Huh,” Finlay said in to the silence when Dillon had finished talking. “Fancy that. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bird like that before. Is it rare?”

Dillon shook his head. “Not really. They’re about the place but they normally prefer dense bush land and more isolated settings. I think this little guy got caught in the storm last night and ended up here by mistake.”

“Huh,” Finlay repeated, but didn’t say anymore for a long time. She was looking at him, examining him, and Dillon was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore. He didn’t want to be the first to speak though, not when she seemed to be playing some sort of game with him, and so he made himself busy gathering his cotton tips and tweezers and water and then, with the greatest care, assisting the firetail in it’s cleaning. “You’re good at that,” Finlay said eventually. “I would have thought any bird’d go absolutely mental if someone were to take a pair of tweezers to its wing. You’ve got a gift.”

Dillon shrugged. “I like helping animals.”

“Right. Well, here’s the thing, Mr. Kelly,” Finlay said, putting her elbows on the table and leaning forward, finally ready, it seemed, to explain why she’d come. “Your break-in the other night isn’t the only ongoing investigation we’ve got happening at present. In fact, I’m having to look in to a series of crimes that are down right nasty.” 

Her eyes hardened as she spoke, pinning Dillon to his chair and making it impossible for him to look away.

“That’s not good,” he replied cautiously. “But what has that got to do with me?”

“Well you see, Mr. Kelly, we’ve drawn a blank on your break-in story. We can’t seem to trace your stuff or your intruder; we’ve got nothing to go on. But this other issue...” she sighed and her demeanor softened once more, as if she couldn’t force herself to maintain the hard tone anymore. “I need to know where you were last night between six and eight p.m. I don’t need any information from you about your whereabouts after that. I know who you were with after that time, but I need to know if you have an alibi for the hours of six and eight. Can you give me that, Mr. Kelly?”

Dillon tried to process her words but his brain was refusing to play along. The way she had told him that she knew who he was with for most of the night made his skin crawl and he wondered what David had told her about their night together, but there was no way he was going to ask. She seemed to think that he’d done something, something that warranted an alibi, which she already knew he didn’t have.

“I was here,” he told her, laying down his tweezers and letting the small finch settle itself back down in to its tea towel nest. “Um. I don’t have an alibi, I live alone and I was alone. I was... I was, um, having another panic attack if you must know. Officer Sharma found me at around nine maybe, I think. He had to try and... um, help me through it.” Already the tears were creeping forward again, along with the heat in his cheeks, but he’d be damned before he let the woman see him cry. He would not fall apart; he would not fall to pieces. “There was a shadow though.” The words slipped out before he could catch them. “A shadow like a man, a man out in the dark, watching us when we were on the porch. I only saw it for a second but-”

He stopped when he saw Detective Finlay’s expression. She didn’t believe him. She was a cop after all, why would she? He turned his face away, glad for once that his hair was too long when it fell across his face and hid the shame he knew was written there so obviously. She didn’t believe him and wanted to pin something on him for no other reason than that she could. It was easier, no doubt, than actually investigating and he shouldn’t have expected anything else. David had made him start to think that he’d been wrong about the police, that it was just his suspicious nature and one bad experience and that he couldn’t paint every cop the same, but it had all been a lie. He wondered whether David knew his boss was here, and what he thought of it if he did. Maybe that was why he hadn’t texted back and why he hadn’t come over. Maybe his boss had told him to stay away. Maybe, he thought bitterly, this was her way of ‘nipping it in the bud’ as Martin had said, to stop any gossip starting about the new cop being a poof. It was all speculation, all just a storm of unanswerable questions and raging emotions in his mind, but he couldn’t ask for answers, not from Detective Finlay, and there was no one else to ask.

“Look, Mr. Kelly-” she began but didn’t get further, for Dillon’s emotions finally bubbled forth, a stuttered torrent that he couldn’t stop.

“You don’t believe me, I get it. I’ve dealt with your lot before and I, I, I get it. But you’ve got to be off your tree if you think I could have committed a crime between six and eight and got back here in time to cry all over your new officer at nine. Unless the crime was breaking in to David’s house, ‘cos that’s about the only place I could get to. I don’t have a, have a car, Detective Finlay. And the bus service around here is shit, basically. If you want to confirm that I didn’t go in to town to do whatever it is I’m supposed to have done, go ask Keith who drives the bus, he’ll tell you. And if you dare suggest that I walked anywhere further than the end of the street...” he couldn’t threaten her, and didn’t want to admit to her how weak he genuinely was. Walking all the way to the town centre would be unbearable, even on a good day, and he hadn’t been having many of those lately. Walking all the way to the town centre and back again in less than two hours was laughable, but he doubted she would take his word for it. “If you think I could commit a crime that I would have to leave this house to commit,” he tried again, “then I think you should take a look at the case notes from the hit-and-run that got me. I can’t run. I can just about walk but not far. I’m here because I needed somewhere quiet to put my life back together. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

She stared at him for a long time, like she was waiting for a tell, for a sign that he wasn’t being entirely honest, but looked away when a tear escaped his eye and slid down the length of his nose. He hated crying, and hated the thought of losing control in front of someone who he couldn’t trust, but Detective Finlay seemed to have made her mind up about him and stood slowly from her chair.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Kelly,” she told him. “But we have to ask these questions in the course of an investigation.” She began to walk toward the front door and Dillon thought about staying where he was and just letting her leave but decided he didn’t want the door to be unlocked for any longer than was strictly necessary and rose to see her out. “I can’t tell you anything about this investigation, of course,” she said when she reached the door and Dillon’s hand paused in the act of turning the lock at her odd tone. “I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation. But I need to ask you to be alert, Mr. Kelly, for suspicious activity, especially with regards to a dating site that you may or may not use. And do remember to lock your door. Small towns aren’t as safe as we’d all like to believe. Good night.”

He let her out and then shut the door immediately, not even waiting for her to get down the steps, and double checked the locks on both doors before returning to check on his patient, who was sleeping soundly in it’s makeshift nest. He grabbed up the bird book, switched off the light and headed for bed, but not too sleep. He was too unsettled to sleep and decided he would just have to read until his eyes closed themselves. He wanted to text David, to ask him what was going on and if he was okay, to tell him that he was lonely and that he liked him and couldn’t stop thinking about him, but found that he couldn’t. And when he opened his mobile the only new messages were notifications from the dating site. One of the new users was still trying to start a conversation with him and he knew he should tell the guy no and delete the app but he couldn’t seem to do it, and just turned his phone off instead. He could deal with all of that tomorrow. Tonight he was too miserable to do anything but curl up in bed with a book, a sore body, and an aching heart.


	12. Chapter 12

David felt that he’d hardly slept at all when the call came in, and a glance at the clock told him that it was barely five in the morning and therefore only three hours since he’d finally fallen in to bed, but he had told every officer in two towns to call him if they found anything, and he’d been expecting it. When he heard the voice of Paget, as rough and tired as he felt, he knew what the news would be. It still didn’t make it any easier.

“Sharma? We’ve found Chen. Bank of Coogan Creek, like you said. Actually it was a bunch of teenagers who found him. They were out camping and a pair of them stumbled over the body when they went looking for somewhere to be alone. Literally stumbled over him. That was at about four but they had to drive out a bit to get phone reception to call it in. I’m heading out there now.”

David grabbed a pen and scribbled down the GPS coordinates that Paget read out to him, thanked the man and hung up. He’d spent the evening on the phone to senior detectives and profilers, everyone who’d had input on the case and sent him off in to the wilds to solve it, and it had been grim. He’d expected anger and blame for getting so much wrong but every person he’d spoken to seemed familiar with the fear that came with misjudging a killer. It was gutting and it had consequences but it happened, they assured him, because they were fallible, because they were cops, not gods. The big stuff ups happened when they forgot that, they told David.

David had forgotten... because he’d never misjudged a killer before.

He pulled on a shirt from the pile at the end of the bed, stumbled out to the kitchen, flicked on the kettle, and began the search for his shoes. He couldn’t remember where he’d taken them off but there were only so many places they could be and no matter how badly everything else was going in his life this was one mystery he was bloody well going to solve before he left the house. He tried not to over-think the facts of Chen’s murder as he made himself presentable and rushed out of the house, coffee slopping over the top of the mug and on to his hand, but it was hard. He’d have to talk to the man’s family and put together a press statement. He’d have to face Finlay and resolve the bad feelings between them, and he had to go back and rethink every fact they had in this case to try and understand the killer and track him down.

He set his coffee down on the roof of his car as he fumbled for his keys, and then looked up, taking in the crisp stillness of the morning. It was a beautiful place really, especially in the predawn light, and he breathed deep, smelling the rain in the air and the wet grass and the faintest scent of the sea. The trees were whispering in the faint breeze and the birds had started their early morning calls, the discordant screeching of the cockatoos blending with the warbling of the magpies and the trilling of birds he couldn’t recognise. Dillon might know, he thought, as he stared out toward the stand of trees that marked the border of the national park, and his eyes drifted toward the cabin that neighboured his own, a few hundred meters away. A light was on in the bedroom and he hoped that Dillon had simply fallen asleep with it on, and hadn’t spent the night awake and alone. He wanted to go and check on him but knew that he couldn’t, there wasn’t time.

It was a struggle to tear his eyes away from the light, knowing Dillon was in there, but he had a job to do and he’d already wasted enough time. He jumped in the car and turned the key in the ignition, trying to focus him mind on the case. He reversed the car quickly down the drive and then swore violently when his mug slid across the roof, rolled down his windshield and fell to the ground, leaving his car splattered with coffee and his heart hammering in his chest.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered, as he stared at what was left of his breakfast. “I needed that.”

Today, he felt, was not going to be a good day.

There was nowhere to stop for a new coffee on the drive between the two towns and he didn’t have time anyway, he was already going to be the last on the scene and he hated the idea of being behind and not knowing all the facts. And he wasn’t entirely confident in the directions Paget had given him. His GPS seemed to thing Port Evans and it’s surrounds were some sort of alternate dimension and constantly sent him in the opposite direction of where he wanted to go. It wasn’t until he saw the reduce speed signs and distant red and blue lights along the highway that he felt secure that he was coming up on the scene and he took the opportunity to call Finlay, suddenly aware that she may not have been notified yet.

“Hello?”

David tried not to smile at hearing her sound tired and disorientated for once. “Finlay, it’s Sharma. They’ve found Chen’s body. I’ll need you here sharpish.”

He heard her breathing harshly down the line; like it was taking her brain a while to process the news and he resisted the urge to bombard her with information, even if it would be a sweet kind of revenge. He needed her at the top of her game and he wasn’t going to get that if he rushed her.

“Where do you need me?” she asked after a moment and David nodded. Whatever had happened between them yesterday, she wasn’t letting it interfere with the job, at least not yet, and he appreciated the professionalism.

“Coogan Creek. At the bridge. At,” he squinted toward the sign up ahead. “Digger’s Bridge. There’s a caravan park and campsite nearby. I can send you coordinates if that helps.”

“No, I know it,” Finlay replied quickly. “I know that spot. I’ll be there in fifteen. See you then, sir. Oh, and sir?”

“What is it, Finlay?” He tried to keep his tone neutral but he could hear the hesitation down the line. The road train ahead of him began to move slowly over the bridge and David let his car creep forward. He was nearly at the crime scene and he didn’t really have time for an extended conversation. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, sir. Nothing that can’t wait. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

David ended the call and pulled his car up on to the verge of the highway. He was within fifty meters of the bridge and it would be easier to leave his car and walk. There was a fair amount of traffic for the time of day and he made a point of ignoring the folk staring at him from their cars as he headed toward the police tape and the slope down toward the water. He needed to focus, and he needed to prepare himself, because seeing a dead body was never pleasant and he wasn’t sure he would ever truly be desensitized to it.

He gave Detective Paget a nod as he slid down the muddy bank, the thick clay caking his shoes in seconds as he made his way to the covered body, and the older man gave him a look that wasn’t easy to read.

“For all his problems I never really thought Chen was your man,” he said with soft gruffness. “But I wasn’t expecting him to turn up dead either, and you called that.” He stared harder, making David wonder what he was seeing. “I’ve been a copper a long time, seen a lot of changes. I remember being told to ignore assault reports from time to time, if we suspected it was a gay bashing. I even had to arrest a man for ‘male acts of homosexuality’, my first year in the force. But things have changed a lot since then, for the better. And I don’t pretend to understand it, I don’t pretend to understand the lifestyle or the urges or any of it, but Mark was a member of our community. Our boys played soccer together. He coached one of the local teams. He was one of us.” He took a deep breath and looked up in to the pale grey sky. “And no one deserves to be strung up by their neck and then dumped in a river.”

David nodded. The man’s eyes were watering and he suspected it was a harsh blow for a man who hadn’t had to deal with a lot of truly violent crime in his career.

“We’ll catch him,” he said solemnly as he approached the body, knelt down in the mud and moved the tarpaulin enough to see the victim’s face and neck.

“See that you do,” Paget growled. “And in the meantime, I’ll hurry along the gawkers who think this is all a pretty pageant for their enjoyment.”

David looked up as the man walked off, already yelling at the crowd that had formed on the other side of the river, people who had heard the news and come from the caravan park to gawk. David wondered if any of them understood what had happened, or if the sight of police cars and sirens had simply drawn them, until his eyes fixed on one man. Craig Gillman was among the crowd, looking down at the scene as if he was on an innocent day out, taking in a local landmark or curiosity. It was Saturday, David reminded himself, and their information had been that Gillman wouldn’t be back near Port Evans until the following afternoon. So many of the facts in this case had been wrong but surely they hadn’t been wrong about Gillman’s movements.

“Sir?”

He looked away at the sound of Finlay’s voice by his side and gave her a tight smile.

“What’s Gillman doing over there, Finlay?” he murmured, as if the man might overhear their conversation from across the water. “Where’s the officer who’s supposed to notify us of his movements? And why am I the one waking you up in the morning?”

He watched the emotions parade across her face as he spoke and expected her to rush in with an answer, but she took her time instead, her mouth moving silently for a few moments before the words came.

“I don’t know, sir. It’s suspicious certainly. I’ll look in to it. But sir, have you seen... around the victim’s neck?”

She seemed disturbed and David looked down, examining the fabric wrapped around Chen’s neck more closely, trying to see what she had. It was hard to pick out much detail, which wasn’t surprising considering the blood and the water and mud, but the longer he looked the more important it seemed.

“There’s writing on it,” he mumbled, taking the gloves that Finlay passed to him without a word, and snapping them on in order to take a closer look. “What is it? What is this thing? It’s not a shirt, or a rope. It’s not tent fabric or a scarf, it’s... a bandana.” He squinted at the writing, willing it not to say what he now knew it did. “It’s a Pride bandana. It’s… one of Dillon’s, one that he reported stolen.”

The wind whistled under the bridge as if on cue, icy enough to send a shiver down his spine, and he looked up, expecting Finlay to look triumphant, only to be confused by the way she was shaking her head.

“It’s one of the bandanas that was stolen, Sharma. You’re not the only detective to make mistakes. I went to talk to him last night and he... yeah, he wasn’t well pleased. But he suggested that if I thought he was capable of any sort of crime I should read up on him. So I did. I didn’t realise the extent of his injuries, or that his boyfriend had been killed. I owe him an apology, and you, but he’s still mixed up in this, you’ve got to agree. I’m not saying Chen was thrown from this bridge but there are similarities we can’t ignore. And that’s his bandana noosed around Chen’s throat.” She frowned down at the stained fabric and sighed but David didn’t try to speak over her, not when he sensed she had more to say. “I called the Adelaide office on my way here. They weren’t too happy but I got on to a bloke who agreed to send me more info on Mr. Kelly’s accident. They never caught the guy who did it, you know.”

“I do know,” David told her, standing slowly and looking out at the people still watching them from across the creek. Gillman was gone but they would catch up with him soon enough. “And I know that the traffic cameras were mysteriously out of order on the night it happened. And I agree with you, that it just feels like it’s connected somehow. But we can’t get ahead of ourselves. We need to learn as much as we can from Chen’s murder, and treat him with the respect he’s due. We failed him and we need to notify his family of what’s happened. It’s his killer we’re catching, not Dillon’s hit-and-run driver. Chen’s body needs to be our focus this morning, d’you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Finlay answered. “I understand. But after that?”

“Oh, after that we go get coffee and track down Gillman and ask him a few very pertinent questions.”

He looked back toward the bridge and felt another shiver rattle down his spine. It was hard not to think of Dillon, and the car that had rammed him over a railing so similar to the one in front of them, down in to a river that would have been deeper and faster moving. It made him feel ill but he pushed the feelings away and turned his attention back to the waterlogged victim at his feet. It was going to be a very long day.

*

Dillon blinked in surprise as he looked over at the clock and realised how much the day had flown by. He’d been so engrossed in caring for the little finch and researching the species that he hadn’t had time to feel bored or overly panicked. He’d looked up the closest animal sanctuary, only to find it was the job of the ranger at the national park, which was one Bec Gilchrist, and decided he didn’t want to bother her when he knew Lizzy was working up the nerve to propose. Instead he’d kept his little firetail happy and fed it with some seeds from the top of his bread, and defrosted some goulash for his tea and pealed some potatoes and then looked up to see that it was nearly seven in the evening.

He’d done so well, and’d had such a productive day, but suddenly, as the sky began to fade, turning to blazing oranges and pinks, the urge to text David was back, stronger than ever, and he couldn’t think of a good reason not to. They needed to talk, needed to at least figure out what they were to one another, and that wasn’t going to happen if they carried on avoiding each other.

_‘I’m having left overs. You hungry? x’_

He sent it before he could change his mind and wondered whether he’d get an answer. Contemplating his relationship with David was easier when he’d spent the day reading up on his favourite topic and working with an animal that needed his help and he decided not to stress too much about whether he’d be eating alone, though did put some extra potatoes to boil just in case. There were more messages waiting for him in the dating app and he considered ignoring them but knew that if he didn’t deal with it all now then he’d never get up the courage so logged in, firm in his determination to delete the app once and for all.

There were several messages, all from one of the new users, and it took several deep breaths and a few minutes spent focusing on the firetail and the sweet way he moved his little head from side to side before Dillon actually opened the conversation.

_‘Hello.’_   
_‘I’m new. Want to talk?’_   
_‘Hey, I just want to chat.’_   
_‘Hi. I like your profile. Want to meet up?’_   
_‘Hey, me again. I just wondered what you were doing Saturday or Sunday? Send me a message if you’re interested.’_

Looking at it all made Dillon feel a little sick but there was nothing particularly stalkerish or aggressive in the words. Still, it would be best to give the guy a definite ‘no’ rather than just deleting his profile and leaving him hanging.

 _‘Hey,’_ he wrote. _‘Sorry not to get back to you. I’ve actually decided that this site isn’t for me. Sorry to let you down but I’m not interested.’_

He hit send and stared at it for a few moments, trying to feel better about what he was doing, but just as he picked his mobile up again to begin deleting his profile a message popped up from his would-be date.

_‘Aw, that’s a shame! I was hoping to try out that Chinese place on the main street. Is it any good?’_

Dillon frowned. He didn’t want to get in to a conversation. He didn’t want this stranger to think that he could be won over, but didn’t want to be rude to someone who was probably just lonely and looking to make friends, especially if he was new in town.

_‘I don’t know. I’m going there tomorrow in fact, but I’ve never been there before.’_

_‘Well maybe I’ll see you there ;-]’_

_‘I don’t think so. Bye.’_

Dillon held his phone at arms length and immediately clicked to delete his profile, a sick feeling building in his stomach as how easily some stranger had been able to get information out of him and how close he’d come to giving in to meeting him. He wanted to cancel the date now but hated the idea of breaking things off with Craig over the phone. He was a nice enough guy, just not Dillon’s type, and he knew that realistically he’d rather suffer through the dinner than go through the process of calling him. His brain was stupid like that, he thought disdainfully.

His mobile beeped and Dillon found himself glaring at it for a moment before realising it was just a text and that it was from David.

_‘ETA 5 min Ok? I can bring wine? Beer?’_

Dillon pursed his lips as the smile tried to spread across them. He could imagine David thumbing the text in a hurry; maybe on his way out of the station, his five o’clock shadow and thick curls making him look unkempt in the best possible way, and his eyes full of excitement at the prospect of another evening spent in Dillon’s company. It was a nice thought and he typed his own reply as quickly as he could. He didn’t want to leave the guy hanging after all.

_‘Surprise me?’_

He put his phone down before he could send anything else and limped to the stove to check on the potatoes. Figuring they were soft enough to mash he set to it and was so engrossed in the task that when there was a knock on the front door he jumped, even though he was expecting David to show up. His little patient even popped his head up and trilled squeakily, even though it had been a very polite, gentle sort of knock, and Dillon let out a quiet chuckle as he crossed to the door, glad that he’d worn his jeans for once, so that David would see that he wasn’t a complete dag. He very nearly opened the door without checking first but couldn’t quite make himself do it. Even if he was almost sure that it was David, he didn’t want to risk it being someone else, and so opened it just enough to see that it was indeed a curly haired police officer with a crooked tie and a nervously hopeful expression on his face.

“Hi,” Dillon said, peering through the gap, trying to keep his smile in check even though he could see the grin spreading across David’s face like a sunrise.

“Hi. Can I come in?” Dillon pretended to consider the request but couldn’t stop himself from laughing, silently, at the look on David’s face, his eyes going wide at the thought that Dillon might not let him in after all. He swung the door open and stepped aside, but David didn’t take more than a few steps, just enough to come face to face with Dillon, so that he could press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Hi,” he said again, his voice low and deep and delicious.

“Fuck, you’re smooth,” Dillon sighed, feeling his body respond instantly to the man’s voice and proximity. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Do what?” David asked, his stance and tone casual while his voice continued to make Dillon feel like he was melting in to a puddle.

“Make me all hard and needy with one word,” he confessed and was rewarded with another brilliant smile complete with a flash of white teeth behind the scruffy stubble.

“You know, I don’t think anyone taught me that,” David replied. “I think it’s just a natural reaction to you. But I apologise if my voice is causing you discomfort.” He paused and ran his tongue over his top lip, teasing Dillon until he could feel his erection beginning to push against his flies. “Is there anything you’d like me to do about that?”

Dillon got the impression that he was being very successfully seduced but had no desire to do anything to stop it and closed the door quickly, fumbling with the locks, his eyes still focused on David’s dark, smoldering ones. For a moment he wasn’t sure what was going to happen next and they stood in the quiet, cosy little home, staring at each other in silence, until David brought his hand around to cradle the back of Dillon’s head and kissed him so thoroughly Dillon thought he might lose his balance.

He clutched his cane helplessly as David pressed adoring kisses to his mouth before opening his own to let his tongue dart out to swipe along Dillon’s bottom lip, asking for entry, dissolving his defenses. He opened his mouth and allowed David to deepen the kiss, groaning at the sensation of being kissed with such passion and lust, and at the need that was coiling in his belly and becoming more and more desperate. He tried to pull the man closer, grasping at David’s shirt until their bodies were pressed chest to chest, and felt the need grow stronger when David’s throbbing cock pushed against his own.

Dillon wobbled and clutched his cane more firmly but David felt the movement and immediately pulled back to ensure he was alright.

“Did I hurt you?” he panted, and Dillon wanted to laugh but could only pant in return, pressing his own playful kisses around David’s mouth as he fought to regain enough breath to speak.

“No,” he said at last. “The opposite. I just nearly, you know, swooned a bit. Maybe.” He laughed then, at the look of pride on David’s face, and gave his arm a gentle swat. “Don’t get cocky. I said maybe.”

“I made you swoon,” David nodded, trying to look serious but unable to hide the ridiculous, boyish grin. “I have that affect.”

Dillon rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop his own smile. He felt giddy, a reoccurring theme when in David’s company, it seemed. But as invigorated as he felt he could see a tiredness around David’s eyes and wondered what had been happening out in the real world to leave him looking so worn.

“Come on then, Casanova, dinner’s ready whenever we are,” he said, taking David’s free hand in his. “Unless you’d like me to put it back in the oven to keep warm for a bit?”

“Would you?” David asked sincerely. “I actually wanted to talk to you, if that’s alright. Oh, and I brought drinks,” he said as an afterthought, holding up the canvas bag he was carrying. “I bought beer and wine because I couldn’t decide. Surprise?”

Dillon laughed again, but it came out breathy and he couldn’t help but feel that David was nervous, like whatever he wanted to say wasn’t entirely positive.

“How about we start with a beer then?” he suggested as he turned back toward the kitchen. “I’ll just put dinner in the oven and settle Firetail to bed and come join you in the lounge room.”

“Firetail?” He was halfway back to the kitchen before he remembered that David hadn’t met his newest housemate.

“Yeah,” he said over his shoulder. “He’s a painted firetail finch, come see.”

David approached the fruit bowl with such extreme caution that Dillon couldn’t help but laugh just a little. If he was this cautious around a bird Dillon wondered what he’d be like around criminals. He didn’t look the type to kick in doors or tackle anyone and Dillon had a hard time imagining him doing anything remotely violent. He lifted the tea towel a bit for David to see the bird, which was already settling himself down in his fabric nest, and laughed again when Firetail chirruped at him.

“And he’s just staying here with you for the weekend, is he?” David asked, bemused, but Dillon just smirked and covered the bowl over with the tea towel.

“No. I found him out back; he’d hurt his wing. And since the wildlife rescue service in these parts consists of one Bec Gilchrist I thought I’d look after him for a bit. He’s doing really well, actually, and he’s good company. It’s nice to be looking after an animal again. I’ve been thinking about getting a pet actually but don’t think it’d be right to get a cat or dog when I’m this close to the park, but-” He stopped talking when he realised that David was staring at him with an odd, dreamy, expression, like Dillon was saying something beautiful or thought provoking instead of just rambling about birds. “Sorry. Um. I’ll get the food in the oven and we can go sit down.”

The beer was still cold from the bottle shop fridge and David had opened two and put the rest away and settled himself down on the couch by the time Dillon had managed to get the goulash and potato in to the warm oven and made his slow way across the small space. He hated moving so slowly, always holding people up and losing time because walking just took so long. It was endlessly frustrating but whenever he tried to go at a pace faster than a crawl his body screamed at him and he paid for it dearly. It was better to go slow but that didn’t take away any of the embarrassment he felt at having David watch him limp along slowly like a man three times his age.

He sat down carefully and David handed him his beer and put an arm behind him, along the back of the couch, and as they drank they began to chat, mostly about little things, inconsequential things, films and books and places they’d like to see someday, until one beer became two and the conversation became loose and the silences long. And then, in a pause in a discussion about cricket and the Australian team’s chances that year, David began to kiss along his neck and Dillon found himself turning his head to allow better access and moaning at how good it felt, and the intense intimacy of the moment.

David’s hand was stroking down his chest, sliding and exploring and making Dillon so hard that he wanted to just surrender and let David do whatever he wanted, as long as he did it soon. His hips were bucking up but the pressure of his flies wasn’t enough to bring any relief, only enough to increase his frustration, and David’s teeth were now grazing against his skin and he just couldn’t take it. He reached up to grab the back of the man’s head, to pull him in for a fierce kiss and to beg him, through his actions, to move things along a bit and put him out of his misery. He could feel David chuckling against his lips but he couldn’t do anything about it, even if the man was mocking him; he was just too turned on to care. He didn’t want to come across as so needy but couldn’t stop his reaction to the way David was touching him, rubbing over his nipples and shifting their position until Dillon found himself lying back against David, feeling the man’s erection against his lower back as he began to grind their bodies together. It wasn’t fair, he decided, that David should be getting some form of friction and relief when he was getting so little but all he could think to do was to tilt his arse and grind in to David more, in love with the groan that rippled in to his mouth and the frantic movements of his hands on Dillon’s chest and hips.

“Fuck,” David whimpered against his lips and Dillon grinned wickedly, pleased that at least he wasn’t the only one feeling so undone. “I want to touch you. All of you. Please?” Dillon nodded but pressed his arse down one more time, shuddering right along with the man beneath him at the intense pleasure, before he rolled away, dropping down on to his hands and knees on the rug and trying to hide the grunt of discomfort that came inevitably with the action. “Shit, are you alright?” David asked, sitting up suddenly, his pupils blown wide with lust and his hair sticking up even more than usual. “Are you hurt?”

Dillon was aware that he looked more than a little ridiculous, disheveled and blushing, on his knees like he was presenting himself with his cock hard and trapped in his jeans. He grimaced. He didn’t want to ruin the mood and didn’t want to slow things down or make David think he needed to back off or that Dillon was liable to fall to pieces during a little light foreplay. He also didn’t want to stay in a position that was causing a serious ache in his thigh. He needed to take control of the situation, and did so by looking up at David through his hair, smiling coyly and willing his voice to sound half as seductive as the purr David had used on him.

“Um, I’m fine, honest. Well, save that I really need to get these jeans off and will need a bit of help doing it. They’ve gotten kind of tight, you know? Like, cutting off circulation, will need to be cut off my body, kind of tight. And I figure it’d probably be best to attempt that sort of procedure somewhere comfortable, like in bed? Um... I’d really like to be in bed right about now. D’you think... that might be something you could help me with?”

David was upon him almost instantly, kissing him with such fire that Dillon felt on the edge of being overwhelmed. He didn’t care that David lifted him and practically carried him to the bedroom, supporting him with an arm around his waist, even though under normal circumstances he would have objected. And he didn’t object to the fact that David lay him down with reverence and kissed every inch of skin he could reach as he stripped Dillon of his clothing, even the scars. He was too far gone by that point. And when David rolled a condom over his achingly erect cock and began to lick and suck and squeeze, he didn’t even consider objecting. They were supposed to have some sort of serious talk, he’d seen it in David’s eyes when he arrived, but he wasn’t going to rush them in to it. If David had something difficult to say to him, or something unpleasant, he wanted to at least have a pleasant memory and post-orgasm glow to see him through it.

But even those thoughts could wait until much later. David had Dillon’s cock in his mouth and two fingers rubbing the delicate skin behind his balls and he didn’t want to miss a moment of it in worry, not when his body wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Oh, god, I’m gonna come,” he whispered, tangling his fingers in David’s hair.

“Good,” came the reply, David’s words buzzing against the head of his cock in a way that made his orgasm coil tighter in his abdomen. “Come for me. I want to see.”

Dillon moaned. “But what about you?” He’d never been much good at holding back when it came to sex but he was desperately trying to claw his way back from the edge as he spoke. “I want you to come with me.”

“I will,” David said before taking Dillon down his throat once more. “Don’t you worry. I will.”


	13. Chapter 13

David put his head on the pillow, stared up at the ceiling and attempted, quite unsuccessfully, to get his breath back. He’d just had the most amazing sex of his life with the most beautiful man he’d ever met, had given him two orgasms and had, a few moments ago, experienced an orgasm of his own so intense it had sent black sparks dancing across his vision. He felt drained and satisfied and so close to love as made no difference. And absolutely terrified. 

He hadn’t meant to end up in bed with Dillon again but it had been frighteningly easy. His libido had simple taken over at the sight of Dillon’s ever wary eyes and cheeky grin peering around the door, and his slim, strong body and the way he cocked his head at the same angle that his cane made his shoulder and hip cock, and the way he handled himself with such determination. It had all been too much to resist, and Dillon had been so willing, and so giving; it had seemed the only thing to do. Now, of course, he worried that it would just make the conversation they needed to have more difficult. 

He looked over to Dillon, who was breathing raggedly on the bed beside him, his eyes closed and a blissed out smile on his kiss-swollen lips. He looked more beautiful than ever and what David wanted more than anything in that moment was to be a small town cop who never had to worry about anything worse than joyriding teenagers and the occasional rowdy party on a Saturday night. He wanted to be able to take Dillon out on a real date, like a picnic or fish and chips down at the jetty; he wanted to call his sisters and gush about how much he adored the man he had just met, and he wanted to have a chance to take things slow. Instead he was filled with a sense that they were moving toward an inevitable, unhappy, ending and he couldn’t stand it.

“Dillon?” he asked tentatively, rolling up on his side to face the man. He didn’t show any sign of having heard so David kissed the curve of his shoulder and watched the slow smile spread. “Dillon, I need to talk to you. We need to talk.”

Dillon opened one eye and looked at him dubiously. “I thought we did that already.”

“I don’t think a litany of ‘Oh god, oh god, I’m gonna come’ really counts as a conversation,” David replied drolly and Dillon snorted in response.

“I think I made my opinion very clear,” he said with a cheeky poke of his tongue and David laughed but tried to force himself to stay on target. 

“You did, and I appreciate that. It was one hell of an ego boost, which I sorely needed, but we still need to talk. Please?”

Dillon turned to look at him more closely then, and David felt himself become self-conscious under such an intense stare. “Okay then,” he said at length. “Let’s talk. What’s going on? What do we need to talk about?”

“I...” David had rehearsed several times in the car on the way over, and had even run through a few scenarios at his desk when he’d been writing his report, but he hadn’t been naked in any of them, which threw him and caused his brain to short circuit and hand him the first thought which came to mind. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

That was not what he had meant to say. It was definitely not at all like anything he had thought of saying and he winced at how formal and awkward he sounded. He expected to be thrown from the bed, and from the house, before he could even find where he’d tossed his underpants. But to his amazement Dillon just looked at him. He’d turned his head on an angle, and his jaw was jutting forward, reminding David of someone poking at an unknown entity with a stick, like he half expected to find something precious, or possibly just animal scat. 

“I believe you, I think,” he said eventually, softly. “I reckon I’ve reached the same place. That’s, um, never happened to me so fast before. I’m usually a slow burn kind of guy. You know, the sort you have to, um, hit over the head with a relationship before, before I’ll figure out that’s what I’m in. I’m a, a, a bit rubbish at dating and falling in love usually. But this has been...”

“Sudden?” David offered, watching Dillon’s eyes for some clue as to how he was feeling. “Unexpected? Out of character?”

“I was going to say nice,” Dillon ceded.

He stretched himself out on the bed, his injured leg shaking a little as it attempted to move in sync with the rest of the body, and looked sheepish, as if embarrassed that his body had acted up, but David pressed another kiss to his shoulder. He wanted Dillon to know that he was beautiful and special, and that his attraction was genuine.

“Nice,” he agreed. “It has been. It’s been very nice.”

Dillon looked at him sharply as he picked up the wistfulness in David’s voice that he hadn’t been able to disguise.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” David knew that he was starting to flounder but just couldn’t see a way to guide himself out of danger when Dillon was watching him with his sharp eyes and head to the side, like the bird had looked at him, all pointed beak and knowing expression. “No, I am really not. Dillon, no. I like you, remember? And I am fast on my way toward love. Really fast. Frighteningly fast. But I, uh... I ran in to Craig today. Craig Gillman? And he mentioned that he had a date tomorrow night and at the time I didn’t think anything of it but then later I realised that he must mean you.”

“Oh,” Dillon replied shortly, blinking as he tried to reconcile two distinct parts of his life coming in to contact so casually. 

David wondered whether he’d even thought about it since his assertion earlier in the week that he would most definitely be keeping the date. He didn’t seem like the sort to let something like that just slip his mind but, David reminded himself, he didn’t actually know the man’s character that well, and he couldn’t make those sorts of assumptions. 

“I just wondered whether you had considered, maybe, not going on that date?”

David wanted to explain everything but didn’t want to risk Dillon having a panic attack at the thought of his date actually being a serial killer. Not to mention that he would be breaking several police guidelines by telling him about an active investigation. The problem was that he had no experience with talking about this sort of thing and just didn’t know what to say. He wanted to maintain the trust between them, and to build upon it, and decided that even if he couldn’t tell him the whole truth, he could still be truthful. He had, for instance, actually run in to Gillman, though it hadn’t been the casual chat he made it seem. He’d tracked the man down at the caravan park in the hope of getting some serious answers, but he’d been disappointed. Gillman claimed to have arrived late Friday night and that there were plenty of witnesses to attest to his arrival. No one had been able to give David definitive times or clear accounts and no one was willing to vouch for Gillman, a man they hardly knew, despite his boasts that he was a regular and well liked. Most people had been inside their caravans and tents on account of the rain and had little interest in their neighbours in any case.

When David had asked Gillman why he was back in Port Evans earlier than expected he’d been given a haughty glare and been told it was none of his business, and he couldn’t push the issue without revealing his hand or actually taking the guy in to custody, which he couldn’t do without proof that Gillman had anything to do with Mark Chen’s murder. He was stuck, and he was frustrated. His only consolation was seeing how deeply wedged in the thick clay mud Gillman’s fancy camper was. At least he wouldn’t be doing a runner any time soon, unless he wanted to abandon his hundred grand home-away-from-home. David had still informed him not to leave town without stopping by the station to let him know, which was when Gillman had boasted that he wouldn’t be going anywhere until at least end of day Monday. He had a date and expected it to go well, very well in fact. He had smirked as he said it and David had wanted to hit him. Gillman thought he was going to get lucky on his date, his date with Dillon, the man lying beside him looking sweet and trusting and loving. David needed to keep Gillman away from Dillon; he just wasn’t sure how to make it happen.

“It’s a bit late to cancel,” Dillon said quietly, startling David from his thoughts.

He almost sounded timid, David thought, like he wasn’t sure, and he recalled what Dillon had said on more than one occasion, about having little experience with dating, and little success. He’d had only two girlfriends and Sam had apparently been his only long-term boyfriend, and that relationship had ended tragically. 

“I don’t think so,” he said with a shake of his head. “Surely it would be better to cancel so that he doesn’t have any unrealistic expectations. I mean, after all, you are... you and I are...” Dillon just blinked up at him, one eyebrow quirking as if waiting to hear the rest of a sentence he knew David didn’t know how to finish. “... you’re my...”

“I’m your what? Your boyfriend? Your fuck buddy? Your property? What?”

David could hear the edge to Dillon’s voice and his eyes were already narrowing and David knew he would have to tread lightly.

“I didn’t say that,” he said, trying to keep his voice rational. “That’s all you. I’ve told you how I feel, and I just thought that... that we had something special.”

“And I thought it would be better to tell him in person that I’m not interested and that I have found someone else. Because I thought we had something special too. But I don’t, I don’t want to go any further with someone who, who thinks they can tell me what to do. To be honest, mate, it’s suffocating, and a little bit scary. I appreciate that you care about me but you need to understand that I’m going to do what I think’s best, not just what you tell me to. We’ve known each other a week and yeah, we’ve moved fast and I’ve loved it, but please back off?”

“You didn’t want me to back off when you were moaning like a-” 

David stopped himself before he ruined things entirely but he could see that the damage had already been done. Dillon had been lying stretched out on the bed as they spoke but now he sat up, his muscles taut, ready for fight or flight.

“Like a what, David?” he said softly.

“Like nothing,” David sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I just wonder whether you’re trying to keep me at a distance because you don’t actually want to be in a relationship.”

“Kept you at a distance, how? You’re in my fucking bed.”

“Emotionally, obviously,” David replied, climbing from the bed and grabbing his trousers. “And I get it, you’ve been through a lot-”

“You’ve got no idea!”

“Okay, fine,” he babbled, not sure where the words were coming from but unable to stop them tumbling from his mouth all the same. “But it’s starting to feel like you’re using Gillman to keep me at a distance, and that you’re going to use me to do the same with him. You can’t just string people along. I like you, and I thought...”

Dillon had managed to struggle in to a pair of track pants but David could see he was having trouble standing. His immediate urge was to go to him, to support him, but knew it wouldn’t be welcome.

“You thought I was just that much of an arsehole that I would purposely use you like that? I’m terrified the world’s trying to manipulate me and you think I’d do it to other people?” Dillon asked with a wobble in his voice. “And where is my fucking cane?”

“The lounge room, I think,” David murmured. “I can go and get it for you if you’d-”

“No!” Dillon pulled himself to standing as he yelled, his cheeks blotched red and his chin shaking. “No. I can get it myself. I can do things for myself. Seriously, David, I think you should just leave.”

He sounded tired, disappointed, worn out; like his suspicion that the world was cruel and heartless had just been confirmed and David knew that if he left there would be no going back. He had made a mess of things so quickly. He’d only been trying to keep Dillon safe but, he realised with a sickening feeling, he’d been manipulative in his efforts. He’d proved Dillon’s point for him, and he hated himself for it.

“I’m sorry. I overreacted. And I didn’t explain myself properly. I was a dick. I’m sorry.”

Dillon nodded, his lips pursed tightly, though David couldn’t tell whether it was a reaction to what he’d said or because Dillon was attempting to put weight on his weaker leg, which must be causing him discomfort.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, his eyes darting about the room and avoiding contact with David’s. “But I still think you should go.”

David repressed the sigh that wanted to escape his lungs. He needed to tread lightly or he would lose Dillon, and potentially put him in even greater danger. “You can’t just throw people out of your house every time they disagree with you, you know.”

“Yeah, actually I can. It’s my house. My name’s on the lease. I can definitely chuck you out any time I like.” He was serious, David could see that, but there was also something else, an edge of humour in his voice, even though he was close to tears. “And frankly I’m pretty sick of people just walking in here, uninvited, and people outstaying their welcome.”

David felt a surge of unease at those words and stepped forward protectively before he realised what he was doing.

“Who’s coming in here uninvited?” he asked seriously but Dillon rolled his eyes and gave him a warning look.

“None of your business. But you know what else? I’m sick of folk thinking they know what’s best for me all the time, like I’m a child. And I’m sick of police officers coming in to my home and accusing me of stuff like I’m some kind of criminal mastermind.”

David felt himself wilt and his shoulders slumped with such force that Dillon startled. He’d told Finlay that she would do far more harm than good by trying to talk to Dillon. Now it was his job to fix it. Only he had no idea how to do that.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, suddenly feeling as worn out as Dillon looked. “I tried to tell Finlay that you weren’t involved but she had to follow her suspicion and learn for herself. I’m not sure what exactly she accused you of, but I’m sorry.”

Dillon folded his arms but didn’t say anything and the silence lengthened until David heard a sniff and looked up to see that Dillon’s eyes were watering and he was pulling a face like he was trying to physically fight back the tears.

“You say sorry a lot for a cop,” he said tightly. “It’s almost like you’re not really just some beat officer who decided he wanted a sea change.”

He left the question hanging, unsaid, between them. He suspected David was more than he seemed and he was right, but David couldn’t tell him. But he couldn’t ignore it either, or Dillon really would kick him out and then run straight in to the arms of Gillman, and straight to his death.

“I may be here to back up Detective Finlay,” he said at last and Dillon nodded.

“Because there’s some sort of, um, crime ring or something?” Dillon asked but David just clenched his jaw and let Dillon take from that what he would. “Yeah, your boss thought I was involved and that my break-in was just some sort of misdirection or, or, or some bullshit. As if I wouldn’t have come up with a more probable list of stolen items if I was making it up.”

“Actually I have some news on that front.” David hated how bitter Dillon sounded and it was a relief to know that he did actually have some information to share, even if he wasn’t going to give away the details. “We found a bandana today, near a crime scene. It matches the description for one of yours. We’re still trying to figure out how it got there.”

Dillon’s eyebrows lifted for a second but he was soon back to glaring and David didn’t blame him.

“Oh, so you don’t think I planted it there to incriminate myself then?”

“No,” David said, a small smile escaping momentarily before he got it back under control. “No. Finlay now understands that there is no way you could have gone out to that location and then been back in time for me to arrive at your door with soggy fish and chips.”

“They weren’t soggy when you arrived,” Dillon said with a tiny grin of his own. “And they tasted alright heated up.” 

As if on cue his stomach growled and he grimaced at the sound but David couldn’t stop a puffed breath of laughter from escaping his nose at the reaction.

“Please don’t kick me out?” he asked, trying to keep his own voice steady as he pulled his trousers on properly and glanced around surreptitiously for his shirt. “At least not yet. I messed up, I know, but I promise you I’m not some sort of possessive, overbearing, abusive guy. I’m not. I have my reasons for not liking Craig Gillman but I shouldn’t have forced my opinion on you.”

“You think Craig’s involved somehow, in this thing you’re investigating?”

Dillon still looked wary but he wasn’t forcing David out of the house and that was a positive sign, so he nodded and tried to think how best to show that there was a connection and that Dillon needed to be careful.

“I had to interview him today,” he said truthfully. “About why his fancy camper van was parked within spitting distance of a crime scene and why a stolen item of clothing from a man he was dating had been recovered from that scene.”

Dillon’s eyebrows went up again at that and he limped a few steps closer to grab a t-shirt from the end of the bed as he spoke. 

“And what did he say?”

David shrugged. “That he had no idea and it was an unfortunate coincidence and how dare I accuse him of anything because he was a pillar of the community, and of the whole region.” He shot Dillon a quick smile and was rewarded with one in return. “I’m not saying he’s pompous or anything, but...”

Dillon’s shoulders shook as he tried to suppress a laugh and David felt a flutter in his chest, a pride at having been able to cheer him up a little.

“He can be a bit, um, a bit self-important I’ve noticed,” Dillon nodded. “But I’m not going to break off a, a date with him that he’s already booked, not at such short notice. I’ll just tell him in person, you know, sorry, it’s not working out. We just haven’t clicked. Whatever he’s involved in, or, um, supposedly involved in, I should still treat him like a person, the same as I’d want someone to treat me.”

The flutter was back in his chest, only this time it was bigger and David took a tentative step forward. What he wanted to do was to rush forward and envelop the man in a tight hug, because he was surely too good for either David or Craig, if he could manage to think that way, but he stopped before closing the space between them. They were on rocky ground and he didn’t want to freak Dillon out or cause him to lose his balance, so was left standing with his arms out, like an unfinished scarecrow, until his brain kicked back in to gear and told him to just ask permission.

“May I... may I hug you?” he asked, even though he felt a little foolish saying it so directly. “Can I give you a hug, because you’re wonderful and I want to show my appreciation?”

Seeing Dillon begin to blush at the compliments was almost as great a reward as seeing him nod his head and David approached carefully and wrapped his arms around the other man as if he needed to savor every sensation and second of it. He tried to breathe deeply and evenly as they stood together and closed his eyes to better feel Dillon’s skin against his. It felt good to hold someone close like that, especially in a non-sexual context. It was a bit of a rarity for him and he thought he’d be content to stay in their silent tableau all night until Dillon’s stomach growled again and the stillness was broken as their shoulders began to shake and the laughter bubbled gently forth. 

“I think I better get us a late supper organised,” Dillon said, pulling back from David with a grin. “Before my stomach tries to eat me. Um...” he paused for a moment, as if steeling himself before continuing. “Would you... would you be able to grab my stick for me, maybe?”

David leapt in to action, possibly a little too enthusiastically, going by Dillon’s huffed laughter, but he didn’t mind being laughed at. He needed to prove that he could be trusted if he was going to be able to keep Dillon safe and this was a way he could show that he was one of the good guys. He retrieved the stick from under the couch and jogged back and was rewarded with another, broader grin.

“Cheers. Now I better get us fed. Hunger always makes people grumpy. We probably wouldn’t’ve got all snippy if we’d eaten first.”

David wanted to believe that, and he smiled back at Dillon as they made their way to the kitchen, but he felt that the hostility would have come out someway. There were secrets between them, and secrets bred hostility. He didn’t say it though, he needed Dillon to trust him, before it was too late, but Dillon seemed to sense the reason for his silence and turned to him with a searching look as he leant against the kitchen counter.

“How about this as a compromise? How about, tomorrow night you can drive me to the restaurant, instead of Craig. And, um, when we get there you can make yourself scarce down the street at the pub, yeah? Are you following me? You, you, you don’t confront him, you don’t get to say, ‘Actually I’m Dillon’s big, strong, protector man now. Hur, hur, hur!’ None of that! Alright?” He gave David a harsh look and David swallowed the comment he’d been about to make, that he didn’t in fact talk like that, and nodded instead. “And then, when we’re done with our dinner, I’ll text you, and you can come and pick me up and take me home.”   
He was being overly reasonable and his tone was teasing, but David took the olive branch that was being offered him and thanked him for the compromise. 

“Thank you,” he said, lifting down two dinner plates and trying hard to be genuinely grateful. “But, I just need to say...” he watched Dillon’s expression darken as he spoke. “I’m not particularly strong; your arms could match mine for strength any time, I think. And I’ve probably only got an inch or two on you at most.”

Dillon scoffed at him but smiled and together they carried the food to the table, the mood in the small cabin finally returning to something light and comfortable.

“Fine,” he smirked. “So when I’m ready I’ll start introducing you as my short, weak, can’t cook but can sew up a storm, boyfriend okay? But you’ve gotta let me go at my own pace. I’m not fast but I get there in the end. Deal?”

“Deal,” David agreed, taking the hand that Dillon offered and pressing a kiss to it rather than the expected handshake. 

It wasn’t a perfect solution but at least he would have a better chance at keeping Dillon safe, and could conduct surveillance on Gillman at the same time.


	14. Chapter 14

Dillon stared at his dinner and tried to concentrate on what Craig was saying. Something about a client canceling on him maybe, Dillon wasn’t entirely sure, there was too much noise in his brain, too many thoughts and conversations and emotions. So much had happened but he hadn’t had time to process it properly and it was giving him a headache when he should have been happy.

“I just hate that sort of rudeness, you know what I’m saying? Guys who think they can just call you at the last minute and cancel, or change their order on the day you’re supposed to supply. That’s no way to treat a man. I don’t stand for it. I gave that bloke a real dressing down when he did that to me. Send me half way across the state and then ring to say he’s not even going to be there and can we make it next Thursday instead.”

It wasn’t a question but Dillon got the feeling he was supposed to respond. He also got the feeling that Craig wasn’t only talking about the client who’d canceled on him. He’d been incensed when Dillon texted him to say that he was getting a lift with a friend and would meet him at the restaurant. He’d called immediately and had made Dillon feel small and worthless and annoying. He didn’t want to think what Craig might have done if he’d canceled the date all together. Maybe David was right, maybe Craig wasn’t as nice as he seemed.

“It is hard to reschedule a, um, a meeting sometimes, especially when there’s expectations tied to it,” he said, speaking mostly to his fried rice. “But sometimes it can’t, it can’t… be helped. Life’s complicated and we don’t always know how we’re going to, to, to feel, um, when the time for a date or a meeting actually comes, um...”

He had seriously thought that Craig would turn up to their dinner in the same half-hearted spirits as Dillon, because their last two dates hadn’t exactly gone well, but if anything he’d been the opposite. He’d opened the door for him and ordered an expensive bottle of wine and had complimented Dillon’s shirt. He hadn’t let Dillon’s glass get even halfway empty over the course of the meal and kept urging him to drink with comments that even Dillon could tell were downright manipulative. He was the sort of dominant guy Dillon always worked hard to avoid and he tried to figure out how he’d ended up in such an unwanted situation.

David had spent the night at his house and Dillon had fallen asleep with the man’s warmth comforting him. It had felt strange, in a way, to wake up beside him again, because it had felt so natural and he’d found himself watching David’s calm breathing as he slept as his heart tightened. In a week they’d met, argued, hooked up, argued again, and admitted that they really did like each other a lot and Dillon wondered what would happen next. David hadn’t brought up the dinner with Craig again but Dillon had seen every time he’d wanted to because he opened his mouth, inhaled, paused, and then stopped himself. Dillon had spent the morning holding in his laughter because David’s earnest expression was too much for him, and had been disappointed when David had needed to go in to town and actually get some work done.

Then the countdown had begun, to the moment when Dillon had to let Craig Gillman down as gently as he could. He’d never had to dump anyone before, though he wasn’t sure that it counted as dumping when they’d only had two dates. It was a panic inducing situation to be in and his anxiety had gotten worse as the day progressed until he wished he had just taken the coward’s way out and cancelled when he’d had the chance. He probably would have too, if he hadn’t had Lizzy on the one side thinking he was too timid to date, and David on the other side trying to tell him he absolutely had to cancel and not even think about dating other men. He’d over-thought everything after that and had found himself feeling horribly jealous of Lizzy and Bec and horribly suspicious of David’s motives. It was still overwhelming just thinking that someone as intelligent and kind and god damned attractive wanted to be with him, enough to admit his feelings when Dillon was still terrified at the thought of feeling anything.

He’d been making a sandwich and feeding seeds to Firetail when Lizzy had called in a panic because her attempt to propose that morning hadn’t gone according to plan. That at least had given Dillon something to occupy his mind for an hour, until Lizzy told him she was going to try again that night when she took Bec out to dinner.

“The problem is,” she’d sighed down the phone. “The only decent place in town is ‘The Jade Emperor’ and you’re going there on your big date. I don’t want to cramp your style by having a break down in the middle of the dining room as I fail, again, to ask my girlfriend to marry me.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Dillon had told her. “The date, I mean, not your thing. Proposing to Bec is super important, Love, but you should try not to stress about it, okay? If it’s meant to be it’ll happen.”

Now, Dillon wished he could hurry them up a bit, just so that he could have an excuse to stop listening to Craig. He could see them at the other end of the restaurant, looking like a matching pair in their slacks and patterned shirts and coy smiles. They looked so happy and comfortable together and Dillon wished he could experience that feeling again, the way he had with Sam. There was a hint of it with David, like a memory but one of what might be coming instead of one that’d just been.

“You’re not drinking your wine?” Craig commented, lifting his own to his lips and waiting for Dillon to do the same. “It’s a very mellow vintage, you’ll find. Very smooth. But it’s the same with wine as with anything isn’t it? You get what you pay for. I hate for wine this good to go to waste.”

Dillon tried to make his grimace look more like a smile as he swallowed another gulp of wine. He didn’t really care if it was smooth or expensive, he just wanted to finish his meal and say sorry, I’m not interested. He just couldn’t seem to find a long enough gap in the conversation to actually say anything.

“So, what’s up with you?” Craig suddenly asked, smiling at Dillon like he was posing for a photograph. “Have you... been up to anything over the last week?”

The implication, Dillon could hear it in his voice, was that Craig was a busy, successful, business man, and that Dillon was recluse on disability benefits who never seemed to do much. Dillon hated the truth of it, and the fact that, in Craig’s eyes, it was fair enough that he dominated the conversation because Dillon never seemed to have any news, or anything interesting to say.

“Actually I found a bird a couple of days ago,” he said earnestly, hoping to at least prove the man wrong before he broke things off. “A painted firetail. They’re a kind of finch and quite rare but very beautiful and this one had hurt-”

“That’s great. Do you want to order dessert here? I have ice cream back at my place otherwise, and a nice bottle of champagne.”

Dillon blinked. Craig expected him to be impressed, or possibly charmed, but Dillon just felt creeped out, like he’d just looked down at his dinner and discovered half a slug in the bowl, and it propelled him in to action because there was no way he was going to play along with a guy who thought he could smooth talk him in to bed with the promise of ice cream in a campervan, no matter how fancy.

“Listen, Craig,” he said before taking another swallow of wine. “The thing is, I actually feel that, um, I’m not really in to the whole dating site, dating app, thing. Um...”

“Oh, it’s definitely has its draw backs, I agree, I’ve said it myself, it’s a hard life, trying to find someone to connect with when you live out in the arse end of Australia, and a site that tries to tell you that bisexuals belong on a men’s site, I mean, it’s laughable. Not to mention that there’s some sort of glitch in the damn thing and I’ve been getting the most bizarre, disointed messages. New users asking me where I’m going to be on a Sunday night, asking what my full name is, what I look like. I reported it all, of course, because it was basically gibberish. I’m just glad that I’ve met a few people who I actually relate to. Glad I’ve met you, I mean.”

Dillon had started to feel his dinner rising back up his throat at Craig’s opinion of bi men, there was a reason he kept his sexuality to himself, but the feeling of nausea increased when he heard that Craig seemed to sense a connection that he did not, until he felt that it wasn’t just half a slug in his belly but a whole swarm. He needed to set things straight. He needed to make Craig shut up long enough to make him hear what he was trying to say, and he needed to do it now!

A gasp of delight across the room jolted him from his thoughts and he looked up with sudden excitement as he realised that Bec was down on one knee, a ring in one hand and Lizzy’s hand in her other. He was on his feet before he realised what he was doing, but Craig pulled him back in to his chair.

“Don’t make a scene,” he hissed. “We may be on a date but I’m not out in this town and as far as this restaurant is concerned this is a business meeting. You do not go and congratulate two lesbians on their engagement!”

“What?” Dillon tried to put as much distance between himself and Craig as he could. “What do you mean, you’re not out? You’re on a queer dating app. And Lizzy and Bec are my friends.”

“You wouldn’t understand. It’s complicated. Just drink your wine.”

Dillon stood, grabbing his cane to steady himself. He didn’t want to make a scene, he really didn’t, but he was done with his dinner and he was done with Craig Gillman.

“I’ve had enough wine,” he said, “and, and anyone who sees us together is going to realise you’re gay, Craig, because I’m out and they’re smart people, they’re going to work it out. And, and, um, I can’t see you again. I’ve met someone else, someone who actually listens. So I’m sorry, but you and I, we’re not going to be going on any more dates. Sorry.”

He turned on his heel and tried to walk away with an equal amount of speed and dignity, and feared he was failing at both. He pulled out his phone to message David as he walked toward the counter to settle the bill, hoping Craig wouldn’t follow him, but couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Craig Gillman wasn’t going to let him get away that easily and the panic was beginning to bubble forth and overtake him. He needed to get out, he needed to get away, but Craig’s hand was already on his shoulder, before he even had a chance to press send on his text.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

*

David was on edge. It had been an hour since he’d dropped Dillon off outside the Chinese restaurant and taken himself down to the local pub. For the first ten minutes he’d had his phone in hand checking and re-checking for messages. Finlay was the one officially on surveillance for the night and there was a second car stationed outside the restaurant proper; David was technically surplus to requirements but there was no way he was not going to stay, not if Dillon needed him.

“Hey! What’s eating you tonight, Davo? Your little friend not tagging along with you?”

Martin grinned broadly as he slammed down his glass on the bar. David gave the man a long look. Everyone in town was always telling him that Martin was a top-notch bloke and a boon to the town but he just reminded David of Gaston, and he had no desire to accidentally break out in song whenever the man appeared.

“Hello, White,” he mumbled, pushing away his empty lemonade glass. “Thanks for sending over that information about the library security system. It’s been very useful.”

“Aw, a pleasure, mate! I’d do anything for this town. The world might be turning down the road toward Hell but this town, mate, this town’s something else. I never should’ve left it. Never will again. You’ll never leave either, once you settle in. No city can compare to this town.”

He turned to look out across the bar like a king surveying his kingdom and David rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure how long he could stay in a small town, let alone this one. But if it worked for someone like Martin then it was all well and good.

“Why did you leave then?” he asked, letting his curiosity have a little free reign in order to distract himself. “If you love this place so much, why did you move away in the first place?”

“Well,” Martin began, as if he was about to start a grand saga. “Two years ago I was offered a very lucrative contract with a government agency in Adelaide. They wanted the best and there I was. And the pay was great, don’t get me wrong, but city life...”

“It’s hardly a big city,” David mumbled as he nodded to the woman behind the bar for another drink, but Martin just shrugged dramatically.

“But you know what it’s like. It’s why you’ve moved out here, right? The city warps people, corrupts people. But don’t you worry, the country air’ll straighten you out in no time. Clean, simple, living, that’s what a man needs. Don’t you worry, Dave.”

David wanted to correct him but knew it wasn’t worth the trouble. There was something honourable, he supposed, about giving up a high paying job in favour of a simpler life, but Martin seemed to need constant pats on the back and congratulations and David didn’t have time for that. He checked his phone again even though he knew there were no new messages. He would have felt it if one came through, but he needed something to do, something that made it clear to Martin that he wasn’t interested in a prolonged conversation, or making friends. The information he’d given them hadn’t actually been useful and he hadn’t expected it to be. It was simply the names of the library employees and volunteers, information he’d expected, and without some sort of real, physical evidence to back up their case, Craig Gillman would be able to weasel his way out of any charge before they could make it stick.

“Hey, you know who you should meet?” Martin interrupted his musings with a slap to his shoulder. “Craig. I ran in to him in the library when I went to get you the security footage. He’s a top bloke, you two’d get on great. He’s a bit of a city boy, got some fancy, new age ideas, but he’s great value. Great footy player, but he’s got a temper mind. I wouldn’t like to go up against him in a fight! But maybe you’ve got a few choice moves as well, hey? City boy?”

“Craig who?”

David was suddenly at full attention, his eyes focused on Martin as he tried to stop himself from giving in to the urge to wipe the glib grin off the man’s face.

“Craig Gillman,” Martin informed him, shrugging his shoulder as if there were no other Craigs in existence and David’s question was utterly ridiculous. “Why, have you met him? Or did he turn up already, on your surveillance?” He winked obviously and David felt his emotions beginning to boil. “He’s a good bloke, yeah. And hey, forget what I said about his temper, I didn’t mean it, he’s a pussycat. Whatever our Finlay’s got you looking in to, Craig-o, he’s not your man. Dave?”

David almost fell off his stool in his haste, and shook off Martin’s hand on his shoulder when the man tried to steady him. If Gillman had been seen at the library but hadn’t shown up in the security footage then that at least gave them a reason to bring him in for questioning. He rushed toward the door with his mobile in hand, ignoring a call from Martin asking him what was wrong. As he ran out of the pub his phone finally buzzed.

_‘i’m so ready to go. leaving now.’_

He looked down the street, not honestly expecting to see Dillon outside only moments after he’d sent the text, but as he began a fast walk down the footpath he saw the man emerge, unmistakable even at a distance with his hair tucked behind his ears and his cane glinting under the street lights. He was moving faster than was probably comfortable and David sped up his own steps as he saw Craig Gillman exit a moment later, and grab his arm. David watched as Dillon’s cane slipped as his arm was pulled. He began to run as Dillon lost his balance and fell, and called out when he saw Gillman lean over the smaller man and yell, his boot already colliding with Dillon’s ribs.

“Hey!” he yelled, gaining speed. “Stop! Police!”

Gillman looked up, hands a bear inch from Dillon’s throat, and tried to run, only to collide with Finlay who had exited her car and tackled him.

“Mr. Gillman, you are under arrest,” she shouted cheerfully as she held him down against the concrete and then looked up at David as he arrived on the scene. “He’s all yours boss.”

David came to a stop and fell to his knees beside Dillon, trying to assess the extent of his injuries. His hands were scraped from the concrete and he was wheezing as he sat up but seemed otherwise fine, even if he was giving David an extremely confused look. David wanted to express his relief that Dillon was safe somehow but knew it was neither the time nor the place. In an ideal world he would have gathered the man in to his arms and kissed him and explained properly what had happened and why, but there was no time for that. And, he told himself, he had a job to do. He’d been working toward this arrest for weeks and he wasn’t about to let it slip by.

“Good work, Finlay,” he told her. “Very fine work. Mr. Gillman, as my fine colleague just informed you, you are under arrest.”

“What?” Gillman yelled, spittle flying from his mouth as he struggled to free his arms. His cheeks had changed from an angry red to a deep and unhealthy puce and David wondered how much of the colour was caused by his outrage and how much was a result of the struggle. Above him, Finlay hadn’t even broken a sweat and she was grinning too, at Gillman’s indignation. “Arrested on what charge?”

“Oh, Mr. Gillman,” David said with a lightness he didn’t feel, “you’re an intelligent enough man, at least that’s what you told me several times during our last chat. Surely you can figure it out. I just saw you put your hands to that young man’s neck for starters.”

Finlay cuffed Gillman’s wrists and moved back, kneeling with one knee down beside the man’s head. He tried to rise but couldn’t manage it and glared up balefully as he spat his words at her.

“This is assault! I’ll have you stripped of your rank and badge for this!”

Finlay just grinned wider and cocked her head to the side.

“Nah, that’s what’s called reasonable force. I reckon assault would be if I were to yank your arm real hard when you were trying to get away and then kick your walking stick out from under you and then verbally abuse you as I kicked you in the ribs before attempting to strangle you.”

David let out a grunt that was almost a laugh as he moved over to join her, leaning over Gillman until he turned his face to look up at him directly. He was enjoying this, he couldn’t deny it, but he gave the man his most serious and intimidating look as he spoke.

“Mr. Gillman, since you asked, I’m arresting you on a charge of assault. But I am also arresting you in connection to the murder of Mark Chen.”

“What?”

“You have the right to remain silent, Mr. Gillman, if you choose to. You have the right to legal counsel. You also have the right for a family member or friend to be informed of your arrest. If you resist any further I will have to charge you with that as well and that, quite frankly, would be a pain, Mr. Gillman, and I’m in a good mood and don’t want the burden of the extra paperwork.”

He smiled, knowing it looked more like a snarl, and watched the fight go out of Gillman at the sight of it. Blood was rushing through his veins and adrenaline was fueling his heart and he felt jubilant at the thought of finally having some proof, a way to link Gillman to the murders from several angles. He had Gillman’s proximity to Mark Chen’s dumped body, his lack of alibi for the night of the murder, Martin’s eye witness account of him leaving the library, his own eye witness account of Gillman putting his hands to Dillon’s throat. He had finally broken the case and nothing was going to take that feeling of victory away from him.

“Yeah, nobody needs that,” Finlay responded cheekily. “Especially since it’d keep you stuck in Port Evans even longer! Here’s hoping we can get this bastard stamped and gift wrapped and ready to be sent off to Adelaide for you over the next few days and then,” she winked at him and David chuckled darkly, unable to hide his excitement. “Then it’ll be back to Sydney and sleeping late and ‘proper’ coffee I expect, hey boss?”

“Boss?” David had almost forgotten Dillon was there and turned in surprise to where the man was sitting on the footpath, rubbing his wrist and wheezing as he tried to speak. “Was this, um, was this all... all a set up then? To catch a murderer? What was I then, bait?”

David felt his racing heart trip when he realised what Dillon must think.

“Hey, no. Are you alright? Do you need an ambulance, anything like that?” Dillon shook his head, his expression one of disbelief, and eventually David realised he would have to actually answer the questions put to him. “No, you weren’t bait. Not at all. It was a complete coincidence, my meeting you. I was sent out to answer your call as a part of establishing my cover. The fact that you became involved with Gillman was just a lucky coincidence.”

“Lucky?” Dillon whispered, confused. “Lucky that I ended up on a date with a suspected murderer? Lucky for who?”

“That’s not what I meant,” David huffed. He climbed to his feet, realising how ridiculous it was to be arguing while sitting on the ground, and pulled Gillman to his feet along with him. “Look, we can talk about this later. You know how I feel about you. You know I wouldn’t do anything to put you in danger. Are you alright? Can you stand?” He offered his free hand but Dillon refused it and struggled to his feet with the help of his cane. “It was just convenient that you happened to be in contact with Gillman, it worked out in our favour tonight. But if you’ll recall the argument, it was me trying to dissuade you from going out with him, and you refused.”

“Because I didn’t realise he was a bloody murderer!”

“I am not a murderer!” Gillman shouted, and David watched as Dillon flinched.

He gave Finlay a look and she led the man away toward the two waiting uniformed cops but when he looked back, expecting to see Dillon a little more calm, he saw that he was actually struggling to breathe, and that a small crowd had gathered to watch the scene.

“Dillon, look-” he tried to reach out, to put his hand on Dillon’s shoulder, but it was shrugged off and Dillon moved out of reach, like a terrified animal, the panic visible in the shaking that was overtaking his muscles.

“Is, is, is that the only reason you were nice to me? Because I was convenient? Are you even... I mean, you’ve not really been transferred here, have you? You’re just, just here for this case. So you were never, um, never serious about me? It was all an act?” David wanted to tell him that it hadn’t been an act, but the words stuck in his throat. He didn’t want to do this in front of a bunch of gawkers who’d come running from the restaurant. He could see Lizzy and Bec among the watchers, and Martin too, at the back. “When were you going to tell me?” Dillon said bleakly, his brown eyes large with emotion. “Or were you just going to, um, carry on like it was all fine until one day you, you, you weren’t there anymore? I mean, what the fuck, David?”

“We can talk about this later,” he said, hating the lack of emotion in his voice. He was filled to overflowing with the stuff but somehow he still managed to sound cool and in control and for once he hated that about himself. “Right now I have a job to do.”

He turned to walk back to his car, wondering if Dillon would join him. They had agreed, after all, that he would give Dillon a lift home after his dinner with Gillman, but the only thing that followed him was Dillon’s sad, quiet voice.

“But I was falling in love with you.”

David didn’t look back. He had kept Dillon safe, and he had caught his man. That was all that mattered. He could mend the relationship once he had Gillman’s confession, and figure out where they would go from there. He’d been a fool to think it could be more than a fling and yet, despite knowing that he done what needed to be done, and that he’d finally arrested his serial killer, David couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d managed to get everything wrong.


	15. Chapter 15

David stared down at Craig Gillman, slouched in his chair in the station’s one and only interrogation room. He looked indignant but David had been in the game long enough to be able the see the fear beneath the swagger. 

The room they were in was small, claustrophobic; the brick was painted a depressing grey and the white bar light above flickered. David stood with his back against the wall, arms crossed like he had all the time in the world, letting Gillman know that he could wait, would wait, until the truth came out. It was all a lie, of course. He wanted to get this done, wanted a confession out of Gillman and charges brought and the whole thing wrapped up and over with. He needed to focus on breaking Gillman but couldn’t stop his thoughts from turning back, again and again, to Dillon, and the look on his face when he’d realised that David hadn’t told him the whole truth. He had desperately wanted to apologise, to explain that while initially his interest in Dillon had been tied to the murders, now his feelings were far more complicated. Hell, he was on the verge of quitting his job back in Sydney and transferring to Port Evans for real, if it would make Dillon happy. Of course, in the heat of the moment, when Dillon had been standing in front him with tears in his eyes - when it actually counted - David hadn’t been able to say any of it, and he hated himself for it.

Finlay slipped in to the room with the case folder and a cup of water and gave David a searching look. She wanted to know if he was up to the task, but no matter what was going on in the rest of his life, David was determined to see this through and put the case to bed. It was the real reason he was here after all, and he had a reputation to uphold. Love could come later, he told himself. He’d make it up to Dillon some how; right now he needed to get a get justice for Mark Chen and the six other men tied to the same serial killer, to Craig Gillman.

He gave the Finlay a nod, took the cup and folder from her, and together they moved over to the table and their suspect. David took the seat and set the water down in front of Gillman while Finlay remained standing, watching. 

“Thought you might be thirsty,” he said by way of explanation but Gillman only glanced at the cup before looking away.

“No thanks.”

David let the silence stretch out a good long while before he spoke again and saw that Gillman had started to sweat.

“Do you know why you’re here with us tonight, Mr. Gillman?” he asked neutrally. Gillman nodded. “Alright. Can you tell my colleague and I why you think you’re here with us tonight?”

“Because of Dillon Kelly,” the man replied, eyes still darting around. “Because you think I was trying to assault him, or some such nonsense. I’ve requested my lawyer, you know. You can’t interrogate me without my legal representative present.”

David smiled, leaned back in his chair, and counted to five slowly in his head before replying. “This isn’t an interrogation, Mr. Gillman. We’re just trying to sort out a few things before your lawyer arrives. No one’s denying you legal aid. Your lawyer is probably on their way right now. So we’re just having a chat. Nothing wrong with a chat is there, Mr. Gillman?” He left a pause but didn’t actually wait for an answer. This could prove troublesome. He hadn’t expected the guy to lawyer up so quickly. “Why don’t you tell me what happened between you and Mr. Kelly, Mr. Gillman? I’d like to hear your version of events, so I can understand. Can you do that for me?”

Now he waited. Gillman wasn’t an idiot, but he loved to talk, and from what David had seen, what he loved to talk about most was himself. If they could get him talking, there was a chance he’d give himself away, and that would make it much easier to actually charge him with murder. Men like him craved recognition, David have discovered over the years. They wanted to boast about their crimes but couldn’t do so openly, and that was often their undoing, because the urge to show off about the pain and suffering they’d inflicted became too much and they just had to share the gory details, so that the people they told would be awed and fearful.

“I didn’t do anything,” Gillman said with a sneer. “I am,” he sighed and looked off in to the corner of the room as if the admission pained him. “I’m gay, actually. I thought he was interested in me. I thought he was playing hard to get. Some guys are like that, you know? I don’t usually go for that type. I should’ve cut my losses after the first date.”

“What type is that, Mr. Gillman?” Finlay asked casually but Craig Gillman didn’t look at the younger detective, he looked at David as he answered.

“High maintenance twinks. But there aren’t a lot of options out here and I was... lonely, if you must know.”

“Is that why you grabbed him, Mr. Gillman? Is that why you hurt him?”

David sat back and folded his arms, happy enough to let Finlay ask the questions while he read the guy’s body language. Something was off, but he couldn’t see it clearly yet, and behind his eyes, disrupting the flow of his thoughts, was Dillon. This had all seemed straight forward when he arrested the man outside the restaurant but now it was all becoming muddied, like a painting left out in the rain, and he didn’t like it. Gillman wasn’t reacting the way he’d thought.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him!” Gillman said with more force. “I didn’t realise his leg was that weak, I thought it was a bit of an act, to be honest. And he was starting to make a scene in the restaurant in front of everyone. It’s alright for someone like him if he was wants to be out and proud but I’m not that brave. I didn’t want the whole town knowing I’m a big old poof. I just wanted him to shut his mouth. I didn’t mean for it to go so far.”

Finlay didn’t ask another question and from the corner of his eye David saw her walk to the wall and lean against it, just as he’d been doing when she entered the room. She was a quick study and a good detective and David was glad he had her on his side. Very slowly he pushed the beige folder out in to the centre of the table, watching as Gillman’s eyes followed it, and then after a moment’s pause, flicked it open to reveal the photographs of the other bodies they’d recovered.

“What about these men, Mr. Gillman? Were you just trying to shut them up as well?” He flicked a photograph of Mark Chen’s body toward the man, his latest victim, and watched to see what would happen. He had expected Gillman to be more vindictive and he’d expected him to say that Dillon had deserved the assault, but he hadn’t. Now it was time to up the ante and see if he was that good of an actor. “Did you mean to hurt Mark Chen?”

David had seen killers react to photos of their handy work before but he’d never seen a guilty man recoil so dramatically, or with such genuine horror. Gillman’s face drained of colour and he almost fell from his chair in his haste to get away from the images of the dead men, beaten, strangled, and dumped.

“What the hell is this?” he cried. “Why the hell are you showing me these? I only roughed him up; I’ve never seen any of these guys! What do you think I’ve done? I haven’t killed anyone. Oh my god!”

David winced as the man turned and vomited on the interrogation room floor, feeling his own gorge rise at the sound of it splattering against the concrete. That reaction was wrong. Everything was wrong. He called an end to the interview and turned off the recorder that had been running as Finlay helped the man up and guided him to the door where another officer appeared to take him back to the cells, but David stayed in his seat, his eyes fixed on the photographs. He couldn’t move, couldn’t force his body to do more than breathe shallowly through his mouth to avoid the worst of the smell that Gillman’s vomit had left in the room, couldn’t even blink. He had got it wrong. There was no way Gillman was their man, not unless he was a much better actor than David had thought possible. He was a slimy bastard, sure, but he wasn’t the killer. Somehow, despite being their only suspect, he wasn’t the killer, and for a moment David thought he might vomit as well. It was possible, he admitted, that he had just wanted Gillman to be guilty because he hated the thought of him and Dillon going out together, hated the thought of Dillon getting hurt, or Dillon deciding he liked Gillman better than him. Which meant that the real killer was still out there, and probably believed that he was getting away with it. 

Cold sweat began to prickle on his neck and he shivered, even though the room was stuffy and hot, because he couldn’t even see where he’d gone wrong. He’d made a comprehensive list. Other experts in the field had agreed with him and they had conducted the investigation according to a formula that was proven to work. Yet at every turn the case had bowled them for six, causing David’s head to spin and his thoughts to jumble. Gillman had been their only real suspect, but they had all been wrong. Which left them with six men confirmed dead, one missing, and no clue who the murderer was. And Dillon.

David sprang to his feet and bolted from the room, the chair clattering to the ground behind him. He rushed through the small station, not caring that the duty sergeant was yelling after him, or that Finlay was calling his name. He’d fucked up so badly, had been so blind, that he hadn’t seen everything else that was going on. Love, he decided as he reached his car, had a lot going for it but did tend to make a man’s vision fuzzy round the edges. He just hoped that he wasn’t too late.

*

Dillon leant against the kitchen counter as he waited for the kettle to boil, wishing he could just pull himself together and stop crying. Lizzy and Bec had dropped him home but he’d told them not to stay, them celebrating their engagement with joy and kissing and a proper night together was more important than his bruised heart and ribs. He wanted them to be happy, because someone needed to be, and so he smiled and gave his congratulations and told them he would be fine. He knew it the right thing to say, and when he’d said it he’d honestly believed that he wanted to be alone, to truly wallow in the pain and humiliation of it all, but now he wasn’t so sure. He just felt like such an idiot for trusting David so completely, despite all the warning signs, and for letting himself get hurt again. He’d come out here to get away from the world, and to try and finally heal, but had made the mistake of letting people in and now he felt like a fool for being broken hearted. 

He looked down at his empty ring finger. He still missed Sam. Nothing bad had ever seemed to touch Sam, he’d been confident and happy and supportive. He’d taken Dillon to Pride and kissed him in public and made it all seem so damn easy. He’d believed the universe was a fair place in a way that Dillon never had. And he’d ended up dead. 

Dillon had thought he was getting past it, past the grief and aching loss, but he hadn’t been ready for the photograph, and the ring Sam had given him as a promise of their future together, to be stolen from him. He had so little left of the man he’d loved, and it hurt. It hurt more than his fucking leg. More than anything, Dillon knew, he hadn’t been ready for the feelings David Sharma had caused. Feeling which had long been in hibernation but which now refused to be ignored. 

Behind him the kettle boiled but Dillon wasn’t sure he even wanted tea anymore. It seemed too much effort. What he wanted was to lie down for a bit, or for a few decades, but the thought of going in to his bedroom made his throat tighten and the tears start falling all over again. More than anything he wanted to feel safe, but now that seemed impossible and even the wide expanse of tranquil bush land and distant hills didn’t calm him, it just made him feel small and vulnerable. Firetail was asleep in his little nest, so trusting even in a world that could be harsh and cruel, and Dillon wished he could be the same, but something inside him made him think he wasn’t going to get any restful sleep. After a few minutes lost in thought, staring blankly out through the kitchen window, Dillon made himself tea, simply for something to do, and then made the arduous journey toward the couch. He’d learnt the hard way that if he filled the mug anywhere near the top he’d end up with burnt fingers, thanks to the cane and his uneven gait, but could never shake the feeling that only making half a mug of tea was a waste. His compromise was to fill it three quarters of the way up and then walk even more slowly than usual, to avoid any spillages. It worked about half the time but Dillon could live with that and he made it to the couch after several minutes with a sigh of relief.

He put his mobile down next to his mug on the coffee table and sat and stared and wondered what he could do. He’d regret it if he fell asleep now because he’d likely wake up at two in the morning feeling like death and unable to get back to sleep until sunrise. But he could at least wrap the blanket around himself, since it was there, and there was nothing wrong with lying down, he decided, just to rest his back and his leg, because he knew he had no chance of falling asleep.

As he tucked the blanket more snuggly around himself Dillon had a sudden memory, and his body shook. He’d been dozing, trying to stay awake even though the hour was late, and a blanket had been draped over him. He’d felt so warm, so safe, knowing that David was watching over him, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that seemed determined to fall and keep falling, no matter what he did. He had been desperate to believe that David cared about him for who he was but of course it had just been part of the guy’s cover. He probably wasn’t even interested in blokes, had probably just spun him a story for the sake of the case, but Dillon hoped not. Despite everything he hoped that it hadn’t been an act. 

He woke a while later to a sound, his heart already in his mouth and his skin prickling, but the doors were still locked, he could see them from the couch, and besides, David had taken Craig Gillman in to custody, so there was no chance of the creep coming back. He was safe, he told himself, letting his eyes drift shut. He was safe, and he was alone.

*

David stabbed at the phone’s screen with his finger as he unlocked the car, cursing the damn thing for not realising he was in a hurry. He found Dillon’s number and hit call and listened anxiously as it rang. He needed to know Dillon was safe. He’d wasted the last couple of hours letting Gillman stew and working himself in to a heartbroken pity party over what he had and hadn’t said to Dillon when he’d had the chance, when he should have been thinking rationally and moving more swiftly. 

He slid in to the driver’s seat just as the call was picked up and wanted to laugh with relief when he heard Dillon’s tired voice down the line.

“Hello?”

He sounded confused and David had a sudden image of the man half-asleep, rumpled and bleary eyed and perfect, just like he’d been on the night of the break-in, when David’d had to wake him when he left. He smiled broadly at the image, and at the knowledge that Dillon was in fact safe and not in any immediate danger.

“Dillon, it’s me, please don’t hang up?” he said at speed and winced at the sigh he heard down the line, even though he knew he deserved it.

“What d’you want now? Need to, to, to dust me for prints? Or did Gillman turn out to be innocent? Am I your chief suspect now?”

“Actually yes,” David replied, sitting back in his seat and closing the car door. Dillon made a disgusted noise down the line and for a moment David was confused until he realised what he’d said and rushed to explain. “I mean, no. I mean, I’m still charging him with assault but Gillman almost certainly didn’t commit the murders I’ve been investigating. I was wrong.” He took a deep breath. “I was wrong, Dillon. And I was a dick. And I’m sorry. But if Gillman’s not our man and I don’t have any viable leads then that means one thing.”

“What? That it’s me? Did I whack them all with my cane? How many bodies are we talking here? Am I serial killer?”

David ignored the sarcasm. He couldn’t rise to it, not when he was the reason Dillon was hurting, and he didn’t have time to spare either.

“It’s six dead, probably six, possibly more. And it means you’re still in danger, Dillon,” he said more gently, trying to soften the blow because he knew that it must be a horrible thing to hear, especially for someone who had spent so long trying to rebuild his confidence and trust in the world. “I need you to call Lizzy right now and get her to pick you up, okay?”

“But, but, but, um, she’s just got, got engaged to Bec, um. She left a few hours ago,” Dillon almost shouted down the line, his voice turning shrill as the dread began to grip him all over again. He was usually so good at acting tough, David knew from experience, but his body and mind were exhausted and he sounded like he was on the verge of a full blown panic attack. “And it’s, it’s, it’s, it’s the middle of the night, David and... Fuck, you scared me!”

“What?” David asked in confusion, but there were other sounds now, coming through the phone, and his stomach dropped like a bottle from a bridge when he realised that Dillon wasn’t alone in his home. “Dillon? Dillon, who’s there with you?”

“Oh my god,” Dillon whispered, the words barely audible as the phone fell away. “No, no, no, no, no, no...”

David started the engine and pulled out of the station carpark with a screech of tyres even as he heard the muffled sounds of a struggle and Dillon’s terrified, pleading voice as he repeated that one word over and over. When the call ended the feeling of dread doubled because David knew it must have been the intruder who pressed the button, and that they would have seen his number. They would know he was coming, which gave them an advantage. This killer seemed to have all the advantages, David’s brain told him as he sped through the town. They knew David was coming, so they knew to leave as soon as possible, and they knew which direction he was coming from as well. They most likely knew the area better than he did too and, he admitted, they knew who the killer was. Swearing loudly at how quickly the situation had turned to shit, David flicked on his car’s siren and reached across the dashboard for the radio. He wasn’t going to be able to do this alone. He needed all the help he could muster and even the officers who hadn’t wanted to volunteer for the case couldn’t ignore a direct call to attend a crime scene.

“Calling all units, this is Detective Sergeant Sharma.”

“Detective Sharma, what the hell is going on?” Finlay’s voice crackled down the line. She was angry and David knew she had every right to be, but he didn’t have time to apologise to her either.

“I’m heading out to Dillon’s. He was cut off, mid phone conversation, by an intruder. Sounds of violence were heard. The intruder is most likely armed and dangerous. We have to assume this is the real killer. All available units to attend. Will give more information as it comes.”

He threw the radio down as he turned another corner sharply, thankful that at least it was late at night and there was no one about for him to accidentally mow down. He needed to get to Dillon’s as fast as he could, even though he suspected there would be no one home when he arrived.

He tightened his grip on the wheel as he sped down the unsealed road toward their quiet, little, cabins. Everything was still and dark. There was no movement, no cars in sight, nothing to suggest that anyone had been at the property. He’d put in the call for all available officers but wasn’t sure how seriously anyone would take his request. He’d fumbled the whole investigation, from start to finish and had finally dropped the ball entirely. 

For now it was just him on the scene and as he pulled up on the road in front of Dillon’s home his mind went blank. What was he supposed to do now? His instinct was to run in to the house and begin searching, but he already knew Dillon wasn’t likely to be there. And he was always suspicious of a plan based entirely on instinct. He had let his feelings get in the way too often during this investigation. He needed to do this properly, like a police officer, and not like a frantic lover. 

He grabbed the evidence processing kit out of the boot and flicked on his torch, reassured by the heft of it, then began to walk slowly and deliberately, looking for any evidence of a struggle or kidnapping, and found it before he’d even reached the porch. There were scuff marks and smears of blood as if someone had been carried or dragged from the front of the house out toward the driveway and a closer inspection of the packed dirt of the drive confirmed for David that a car had been there recently, though he couldn’t say with certainty whether it had been Lizzy’s ute, dropping Dillon home, or the intruder’s vehicle coming later. 

David bounced from foot to foot, frowning hard as he thought. He could tell so little from the information before him, he needed more. Grunting in frustration he took photographs of each blood spot and scuff and then began to head toward the house, following the droplets of blood to the front door, his torch aimed at the ground directly in front of him. 

The cabin was shut but not locked and there was no sign of forced entry and most of the time, in a small town, he wouldn’t have considered that relevant, but he knew a few things about Dillon Kelly, and he knew that he wouldn’t have left his door unlocked, not after all that had happened. He was too careful, and too generally suspicious of the world, to leave his front door unlocked, especially since Martin had only just installed the new locks. 

The lights were on and he wanted to go inside, just to put to rest the fear that Dillon might actually still be in there, unconscious or hurt or worse, but instead he opened the evidence kit and dusted the door handle and locks for prints, because it was the right thing to do. He wasn’t surprised when they came back clean; whoever had done this had been careful. He pushed the door open slowly but there was no indication that anyone was still in the house so he entered, announcing his presence to the empty room. 

The kitchen seemed untouched and a check of the back door showed that it too was unlocked, and so he turned his attention to the lounge room. This was definitely the scene of the crime and David gazed on it with dismay. He had spent so many hours in that cosy room that it wasn’t hard to see what was out of place, and he began to document it all with his camera. The blanket he had used to cover Dillon’s sleeping form on the night of the first break in was strewn across the couch, which had been pushed askew so that it sat at an angle halfway across the small room. The coffee table had been pushed in the opposite direction and cold tea covered its surface. The tea mug was smashed on the floor but the rug that should have been there to absorb the spill was nowhere to be seen. Finally, as he crossed the wooden floor, careful to avoid yet more drops of blood, David found Dillon’s cane, and the sight made his heart clench so tight in his chest that he feared it had stopped beating.

The handle was red and sticky, the blood already drying and beginning to darken, but to David’s eye it seemed too garish, too bright. Too much blood. Somehow he managed to continue taking the photos but then stumbled back outside, trying to breath and failing miserably as he fought to come up with some sort of plan of action. He looked back down the road and felt giddy with relief when two police cars came in to view, but there were only two and he needed more.

David looked at the cabin. It was identical to his own just down the road and Lizzy had said that there were more of them, more cabins on the other side of the park that were just the same and Martin... David pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead, as if he could force the thought in to his mind, the thought that would make sense of it all. Martin, or perhaps Lizzy, had said something about another cabin, somewhere in the park, that Bec used when she was doing her monthly check for poachers and illegal campers and injured animals. But what did that have to do with Dillon’s abduction? How could it be relevant when so few people knew of its existence? 

He vaulted down the porch toward the approaching cars, not wanting to waste another minute, but stopped again after only a few steps, his body still and tense in the thick darkness. There was something else. Martin had said something else. Or done something perhaps. David squared his jaw, reminding himself of Dillon as he did so, which caused an aching flutter in his heart. He had to figure this out. The life of the man he was in love with depended on it. He just had to think. Martin had...

It hit him like a punch to the gut. Martin had installed the locks. Martin who had only been back in town a year, who had worked in Adelaide, who had access to security cameras, who’d been so keen to learn about Dillon and his past. Somehow he’d slipped under the radar, because everyone thought he was such a nice, civic-minded guy but David could see it now and began to run again, barely giving Detective Finlay a chance to get out of her car before he was explaining his theory and pulling her toward his own. She barked out orders to the other officers to secure the scene and call for more back up and within a minute they were back in the car and on the road, headed toward the entrance of the national park and the cabin at its centre.


	16. Chapter 16

Dillon opened his eyes, blinking against the dry, grainy scratch of them as he tried to focus on the room he was in. For a moment he thought it was his own, that he was still at home, but soon realised that even though it was set up in the same configuration, the bed he was lying on was narrow, and the walls were blank and faded. He was in another cabin, he realised, just like his, but somewhere else entirely. 

As he tried to move the severity of the pain in his back and hip and leg caught him by surprise and he cried out, or tried to. There was tape over his mouth, and as he realised that fact his panic immediately doubled and he began to find it difficult to breathe, his nostrils seeming suddenly too narrow to let in the air he so desperately needed. His hands were tied too, behind his back, and the fabric was cutting in to his skin. He was trapped, and the comprehension of just how much danger he was in sent a chill shuddering through his sore muscles. He couldn’t stand or walk; he needed his hands to steady himself and the pain in his hip made him begin to suspect that his pelvis had re-fractured. And he couldn’t call for help. He was at the mercy of whoever had abducted him, and the terror made him want to vomit, only he couldn’t, which made the whole situation worse.

He could hear footsteps in the next room, soft, steady treads, not walking toward his door, not yet, though Dillon had no doubt that they would soon enough. There was so little time, and so few options, and Dillon looked frantically around the room, trying to find some way to escape or defend himself. The bedside table was littered with debris; there were bottle tops, an empty beer can, pie wrappers, tissues, all signs that the user of the cabin wasn’t fussed about tidying, or nutrition. Dillon frowned in disgust; there didn’t seem to be anything of use in the trash. He tried to move again, to take a better look, and a sharp edge on the half crushed beer can caught his eye. It was far from perfect but it was better than nothing and he began to shuffle himself forward. Regret came as soon as he attempted to roll over but he clenched his teeth against the scream that wanted to erupt in response to the searing agony and grabbed at the can with his tied hands. For one horrible moment he thought it was about to fall to the wooden floor but managed to grasp it, just as the footsteps grew louder, signaling the return of his kidnapper. He repositioned himself, the crushed aluminium held tight in his hand, but couldn’t stop the tears from leaking down his face at the pounding heat in his leg. He tried to blink but his eyes just began to sting and it took him a moment to realise that it wasn’t only tears but blood obscuring his vision. He felt the panic boiling in his chest again, but tried to focus on maneuvering the can so that the sharp edge was against the fabric that bound his wrists. He wouldn’t have much time to try and free himself but he had to try, had to try before the footsteps reached the bedroom and he came face to face again with his kidnapper.

“Aw, mate, what’d you think you’re doing? Trying to escape?” Dillon looked up but didn’t speak. The relaxed tone of the man’s voice made him shiver and he tried to hide the can in his hands, hoping like hell that he wasn’t about to be caught doing anything that would lead to more pain. “But let’s be honest, you aren’t going anywhere, are you?” He laughed, loud and wide, so that Dillon could see every tooth in his head, and he tried to shrink away, only to feel himself teeter on the edge of the narrow bed. There was nowhere to go. “It’s quite a turn up for the books, really, isn’t it? I mean, you and me, together again after all this time. You were the first poof I tried to do in, and the only one to get away. And soon you’ll be the last I kill, because this town will be back to the wholesome, healthy place it’s supposed to be. I’ve been saving you up, so to speak, and I have to tell you, it’s been fun. And I owe you a lot, you know, because when I ran you and your sicko boyfriend off that bridge, that’s when I first realised just how easy gays are to kill. But now it’s just you and me, Dillon, and to tell you the truth, I don’t like your odds.”

Dillon stayed silent and still, there wasn’t a lot else he could do, and stared in to the eyes of Sam’s murderer, his would-be killer - the eyes of Martin White.

*

Navigating through the national park, in the dark, was far more difficult than David had imagined. Under different circumstances they might have waited until morning but that wasn’t an option for David. He needed to find Dillon, not just to find the killer but because he loved him, a fact he had somehow managed to forget over the last few hours, when his desire to catch the killer overtook his need to protect, but he was going to make up for it, as long as he wasn’t already too late. 

Still, there was no chance that he was going to be able to find his way to the cabin in the dark, and since he’d had to wake up Bec to get the gate unlocked, he made a judgement call and asked her and Lizzy to drive ahead of them and guide the way. He watched as the ute ahead of him slowed to a stop and did the same. There was no cabin in sight but he’d warned Lizzy not to drive too close and he turned off his lights as he pulled up along with the back up car behind him. The ground was still soft from the rain and he stepped out and felt his shoes sink in to the mud and undergrowth. All around them was the gentle whispering of the bush at night and he saw a flash of yellow eyes out in the darkness, a possum or koala, he didn’t know, but it wasn’t Dillon, and that was the focus of his attention.

Lizzy walked toward him, hugging her jacket around her tightly, her face drawn and eyes fearful. “The cabin’s over the next rise. Five hundred meters ahead. We keep the land directly around it cleared, to dissuade possums and the like from thinking its part of the landscape but they nest in it anyway.” David must have looked alarmed because she rushed to reassure him. “They won’t be a problem. They’re pests but their also cowards, if they hear any action they’ll hide, you don’t have to worry that they’ll get in the way.”

It had been necessary to tell both Lizzy and Bec more than he would have liked and they both looked horribly shaken.

“Look,” he told Lizzy, holding her arms securely and using his most reassuring voice. “In a minute we’re going to be moving forward on foot. We’re going to find Dillon, and White,” he had to pull himself back in to line after he said that man’s name, and Lizzy’s eyes widened dramatically as she caught a glimpse of his anger. “And we’re going to bring them both back. Now, the ambulance is on its way, but they aren’t going to know where to come in the dark either, so I’m going to have to ask for your help again. When we head on up to the cabin I need you and Bec to drive back down to the gate and wait for the paramedics and then guide them up here, same as you did for us. Is that okay? I know I’ve thrown a lot on you, and if it’s too much I can work out something else, but-”

“No,” she whispered, glancing out in to the darkness toward the cabin. “No, it’s not too much. I’m happy to help. Well, not happy, but... please bring Dillon out in one piece, Love, please?”

David nodded. He wasn’t the only one who saw how special Dillon Kelly was and he wasn’t about to lose him. Lizzy went back to her car and David called Finlay and the other officers together to explain the lay out of the cabin. The fact that it was built to the same plan as the two that he and Dillon were renting made it easier for him to visualize and he gave directions to two men to watch the front door, one to follow him in through the back door, and Finlay to position herself at the bedroom window.

“Why there, sir?” she asked curiously. “I can hold my own in this situation.”

“I know you can,” David told her. “It’s not about keeping you out of the action, it’s because I have a terrible feeling that if White is holding Dillon anywhere in that place it’s in the bedroom. I don’t know why, it’s just... a feeling.” His brain was suddenly flooded with the image of Dillon’s bedroom after the intruder, White, had been through it, and Dillon’s fear of sleeping in the room alone. “The window in the lounge room is too large, no good for hiding an abductee, the kitchen window is right next to the back door so there’s no need to watch it, but the bedroom window... the bedroom window is big enough for a man, or woman, to climb through and I need you on it in case White tries to do a runner. I saw the way you took down Gillman tonight, I need that strength again now.”

She nodded and checked her torch. “I’ve got your back boss. Anything else we need to know?”

David wracked his brain. They hadn’t even considered White as a suspect until just over an hour ago and he barely knew the man. But he knew Dillon.

“Dillon Kelly has previously sustained injuries as a victim of a violent crime. Added to that, we know that he was injured by White during the abduction. We don’t know what state he will be in but his safety is our top priority. He’s our key witness in bringing White down, and he’s someone that we, as members of this country’s police force, have failed in the past. We need to make good on that. We need to get him out alive.”

“You really think Martin was responsible for the hit-and-run?” Finlay asked as they began their careful walk toward the cabin.

“I don’t know,” he replied softly. “I only know it fits with our timeline. It fits as a catalyst for the other murders. When all this is over and Dillon is safe I’m going back to double check any and all missing persons reports for the last eighteen months. He’s been on a mission, cleansing his precious town, and there’s every chance that he sees Dillon as the culmination of it all.”

“Shit,” Finlay whispered. “I never even suspected him.”

“None of us did.” David stopped as the cabin came in to view and signaled for the officers behind him to do the same. “Silence from here on. We all know our positions. I go in first, you wait for a signal. The usual rules apply, we take White alive if humanly possible, but our goal is to stop him and ensure the safety of his hostage, Dillon Kelly. Alright? Let’s go.”

*

Dillon couldn’t remember being so frightened in his life, nor could he remember ever being in so much pain, except possibly on the night of the accident, yet that pain had still felt muted somehow. Now there was nothing and no way to separate his mind from the screaming agony and he almost wished Martin would simply finish it. He didn’t give in to that feeling though because a small pocket of his consciousness was still holding on stubbornly, refusing to give, clinging to the belief that David was on his way to him. He didn’t want to give in to unconsciousness or death or Martin when there was even the slightest chance that staying alive meant he’d get to see David beat the shit out of the guy and arrest him. 

A few hours ago he’d realised, when it was too late for them both, that he had fallen in love. Now those feelings seemed distant and strange but his faith in David was stronger than ever and he held on to his belief that David would rescue him like he held on to the broken beer can in his hands. The fabric around his wrists was ripping finally, but he had no idea what he would do once he was freed of the restraints. There was no escape and Martin would be back any second to torment him again. He didn’t know why the man had chosen him as the focus of his hate and violence, and he didn’t care. His grandma had always told him that life was too short to put up with folks filled with hate. Cut them out and move on, she’d said. Well, if he could cut his hands free Dillon was going to have a damned good go at cutting Martin. Despite his resolve he couldn’t stop the flinch that followed Martin’s appearance in the doorway. His body had learnt quickly what that meant, and he hoped the man had no new torments.

A whine escaped his throat as Martin walked closer, coming to stand over him with a look of malicious glee, and he saw that dangling from the man’s large hand was the necklace stolen from him, and that threaded upon it was Sam’s ring. He’d grieved for that ring, cried over it, and feared it was long gone, when really it had been in the possession of the man who had installed his locks, the man he’d trusted to help keep him safe. Martin chuckled as he watched Dillon’s reaction and then pulled a photograph from his pocket and laughed when Dillon attempted to cry out through the gag.

“Aw, you want your precious picture back?” Martin mocked him, throwing the photo on to the bed so Dillon could see it but not reach it. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw it on your wall. I was just confirming my suspicions about you that night, and trying to put the fear in to you, but I couldn’t leave without taking that ugly shot of your dead boyfriend with me. I know his face so well. Better than you do. It sits behind my eyes, never goes away, his face as I hit him, as he died, as he fell. He died so easily, and yet you didn’t. How selfish is that? Why’d you do that, Dillon? Why didn’t you die?” He put his knee up on the bed, rolling Dillon on to his back beneath him, and leaned forward, the chain pulled taut between his hands. “Doesn’t matter really. You’re gonna die now. And then? Then I’ll finally get my life back.”

Dillon pulled at the fabric that bound his hands, trying to get them free, but it was no use, the last knot wouldn’t budge and he hadn’t been able to cut it enough for it to rip. He struggled but Martin was stronger and had leverage and despite his efforts Dillon found himself unable to breathe. The ring was being pressed against his windpipe and the chain was wrapped tight around his neck. He tried to kick out to put his murderer off balance but didn’t have the strength and all too soon there were sparks flying across his darkening vision and his body felt too heavy for him to fight any longer. Somewhere in the distance he heard a crash, but it was a long way off and Martin’s response to it was to double his efforts and Dillon felt reality, and his consciousness, begin to fade.

*

David kicked at the door and leapt in to the room, scanning his surroundings for any sign of White or Dillon. The kitchen was empty but in the thick silence he heard an odd sound. It was the squeaking of a bed frame, accompanied by a faint grunting and he followed it quickly around the corner to the bedroom. In different circumstances he might have thought twice about barging in to a bedroom when he could hear those sorts of noises, but not this time. No one should have had access to this cabin, a bare few people knew of its existence, which meant that whoever was in there wasn’t meant to be. He just hoped he was right about who it was.

He removed his pistol from its holster as he turned the knob, his body humming with the pent up anticipation. He glanced quickly at the officer behind him, and then pushed the door so that it hit the wall with a bang, raising his gun as he entered, ready to order White to stop what he was doing. But the words died on his tongue as he saw the tableau. White was on the bed, bearing down on Dillon’s unresponsive body, a wretched grimace upon his face as he choked the life out of his victim. Instead of words a scream escaped his lips, a rage filled bellow that startled White from his intense concentration and propelled David across the room until he collided with the man and knocked him to the floor.

They were both stunned by the fall but White recovered first and attempted to wrestle the gun from David’s hand, sending a bullet in to the floor beside his head. David felt his grip on the weapon slip. White was using all of his considerable strength to try and take it from him, and his fingers slid along the metal in dismay as it was finally yanked from his hands and pointed toward him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Finlay’s voice was like ice and it was her words more than the sound of another gun being cocked that made them both freeze, but David recovered from the shock first and snatched back his weapon triumphantly. The only sound in the room was the third officer on his radio to the paramedics and suddenly David couldn’t stand the thought of wasting another moment on the scum that was Martin White. He looked up at Finlay, her gun held steadily against White’s head, her expression completely devoid of her usual humour. He nodded to her and rolled away, clambering to his feet and watching White fall to the floor, his hands out on either side of his head.

“He’s all yours,” he whispered and Finlay blinked but nodded in understanding and kept her gun trained on White.

“Martin White I’m arresting you on the charge of attempted murder and suspected murder. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to legal counsel. You have the right...”

David wasn’t listening anymore. He turned and mumbled an order to the other officer who left the room to fetch the two men still waiting outside. They could deal with White. He no longer cared about the man. The only man he cared about at that moment was before him on the bed, though it took him a moment to be able to focus enough to actually look at what had become of him. His heart tightened, as if trying to hide in upon itself, for Dillon was bound and gagged and bleeding and a welt was already forming on his neck. He fell to his knees beside the bed, his mind a horrible blur, unable to think of what to do, and cupped Dillon’s face carefully in his hand as he watched his eyes blink slowly and begin to focus. 

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

It was a stupid question, the answers were obvious and glaring, but it was all he could convince his mouth to say. His mind automatically began to catalogue the injuries he could see: the bloody nose, the shallow head wound, the black eye, the burn from the chain on his neck. There would be more, he knew from the previous victims that Dillon’s body was likely bruised and beaten, but he couldn’t bring himself to look. Dillon, he realised, seemed to be becoming more aware of his surroundings, and was struggling with his bonds, and so David reached around and ripped at the shredded fabric, feeling it fall away in his hands, knowing that it was one of Dillon’s bandanas but unable to look at it. Someone else could catalogue the evidence, he had more important concerns.

With his hands finally free Dillon reached up to peel the duct tape away from his mouth but couldn’t seem to grip it properly in his shaking fingers.

“Let me,” David whispered, though his own hands were shaking as well, as he removed the tape as gently as he could.

“Fuck, that hurt.”

Of all the things David had imagined Dillon might say when he finally found him, those three words had not featured at all, and the burst of laughter escaped before he could stop it. He tried to wrap his arms around Dillon’s shoulders, as gently as he could, but stopped when he saw the man flinch.

“I’m so sorry, Dillon,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t keep you safe.”

Dillon looked up at him, his eyes so tired yet filled with a relentless fire and a searching kind of suspicion that David had come to understand as Dillon’s way of assessing whether he could trust a person. He tried to make his face open, to show somehow that he meant what he said, but wasn’t sure that it was possible, so waited as patiently as he could for Dillon’s verdict.

“I-”

He flinched again suddenly, and David wondered what was wrong before he saw that Finlay and the other officers were removing White from the room. He hadn’t made a fuss of protested his innocence, and David realised that he had been lying there, listening to them, and he felt sick that he hadn’t insisted that White be escorted from the room immediately. He didn’t seem to remember what it meant to be a cop, but he could remember, in the silence, now that it was just the two of them, what he had been meaning to say.

“Dillon,” he said, feeling like the words he needed to say were almost too weighty for him to speak. “I’m sorry. For tonight, for the way I behaved, and for the fact that I couldn’t tell you my real reason for being in Port Evans. I’m sorry that I allowed things to progress between us when I knew that my time here was limited. I’m sorry I allowed us both to end up in this position. I didn’t think. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you said,” Dillon whispered and David hated the rawness he heard in the man’s voice, the result of the near strangling he had just experienced. He seemed about to say more but stopped and dabbed at his lip gingerly, looking at the blood on his finger like he couldn’t quite process what it was. “Martin was going to kill you,” he said eventually, looking back up in to David’s eyes. “He had your gun.”

“But he didn’t.” He moved to take Dillon’s hand, to reassure him that they were both safe and real and that the nightmare was over, but stopped when he saw that the man’s wrists were cut and covered with drying blood. “Oh god, what did he do to you?”

“He did plenty,” Dillon replied breathily. “But those cuts, I did those. I did those. Tried to, to, to cut myself free.”

David barely noticed the commotion happening elsewhere in the cabin as Finlay radioed in to inform the station of what had happened and request more officers to attend in order to gather evidence, his eyes were locked on the raw skin of Dillon’s wrists, even through his tears, which he hadn’t even noticed were falling until that moment, but Dillon cleared his throat, and David looked up in to his drawn face, hating the blank way Dillon looked at him, when only a day ago his eyes had been full of affection. He deserved the rejection, he knew, but that didn’t make it less heart-rending, nothing could. 

“He told me a lot of, lot of, of stuff,” Dillon tried to tell him, though his voice cracked painfully. “There’s two, two bodies he says you’ve not found yet. He killed Sam.”

David bit his lip. He didn’t want to think about the fact that Dillon was going to be his key witness; that he would have to interview him and take a formal statement. He didn’t want to be the one to force him to relive the events of this night, but he knew, when the time came, it was the least he could do for him.

“That’s not important now,” he said carefully, trying to halt the tears that were falling too freely and catching in the stubble around his chin. He sniffed. “We can go over all of that later, when you’re better, okay? Right now though, we need to get you to the hospital. The ambulance is on its way and they’re going to need to know where you’re hurt. And I know you don’t like people knowing you’re in pain, but it’ll be okay, what ever it is, but I need to know. Dillon, please tell me, please don’t try to brave, just-”

He was aware he was babbling but didn’t seem to be able to stop. His mind had been feeding him horrible scenarios and worse injuries and he couldn’t bare the thought of Dillon trying to put on a brave face or dealing with his pain, silent and alone.

“David, stop.”

He heard Dillon’s voice, weak and strained, but couldn’t seem to put the brakes on the overwhelming panic washing through him and the words continued to tumble from his mouth until suddenly Dillon’s lips were pressed to his, blocking the flow of words and sending a bolt of heat through his body, straight to his heart. It wasn’t a forceful kiss, David didn’t think Dillon had the strength for that; it was a gentle press of lips, a still moment of connection, and when Dillon pulled back, his breathing ragged, David felt finally calm.

“Dillon, I-”

“Shush,” Dillon told him, his voice wavering and his eyelids beginning to droop. “I’m either about to puke or pass out, or both,” Dillon whispered between heaving breaths and David immediately brought his hand up to cup Dillon’s elbow, to steady him, tears returning to his eyes when Dillon acknowledged the gesture with a wan smile. “So you’ve got to tell the ambo’s that I’m pretty sure my hip is broken. Again.” Here his words gave way to sobs and David held him until he felt his body go limp. He lay him back carefully on the bed and stood, ushering the paramedics in as they rushed through the cabin. 

No one said anything when he held tight to Dillon’s hand and insisted on riding with him to the hospital. He left the crime scene and clean up in Finlay’s capable hands and decided that interviews could wait. Martin White could wait. He had something far more important to attend to. And he wasn’t leaving Dillon’s side.


	17. Chapter 17

Dillon took the courthouse ramp at a slow, careful pace, one hand gripping his new cane fiercely, the other hand entwined in David’s. It had been the longest year of his life and recovery had been slow, but he was doing his best to listen to his physiotherapist when she told him to be more patient with his body. Recovery hadn’t been the only thing that had made this year such a long and tiresome one. The trial had been invasive, no matter how David tried to shield him from the worst of it, and controlling the panic attacks whenever he had to speak about his time in Port Evans and his abduction had been almost overwhelming. But David had been with him through the entire process, a friend and guide through the harsh realities of the legal system, and Dillon was grateful.

And now it was all over. Martin White had been sentenced and wouldn’t even have a chance at parole for another forty years. Looking out at the bright, late afternoon sun, watching the city sparrows fly and dart about above him, Dillon felt something like freedom, and a smile bloomed on his lips. He turned and saw David watching him, his face one of concern, yet there was affection in his eyes as well. He’d stayed by Dillon’s side while he was in hospital and had made arrangements for him when he was ready to leave and had never pushed Dillon to confront what they might be to one another, now that there was no facade, no danger, and no time frame. To be honest he’d been surprised when David had asked him to choose between two rentals because he’d thought that when it came time to leave, he would simply go home with David. But David had been determined to help Dillon maintain his independence. It had been harsh to be alone again, to wake in the night with no one to cling to, but in the long run it had been worth it. David had bought him two budgerigars, and the largest aviary that he could fit in Dillon’s flat, and had never hesitated when Dillon called him at odd hours, desperately in need of human contact. 

His first question upon waking after his first surgery had apparently been to ask after his little firetail, and it had been a relief to know that Lizzy had taken him in and cared for him until he was ready to be released, and a relief to know that she and Bec were still happily engaged. In one week he would be traveling back out to Port Evans for the first time since had been driven away in an ambulance, and it was only his strong desire to see his friends married that stopped him from canceling their reservations at the hotel. And the fact that it was a reservation for two. It wasn’t an ideal location for their first romantic weekend away but Dillon was determined to make it a good one, and suspected that David felt the same.

David squeezed his hand. The last year had not been easy for him either but he had stayed, when Dillon hadn’t really believed he would, and now it was all finally over, and something new could begin.

“There’s a bunch of reporters round the bend, at he bottom of the stairs, Love,” he whispered, his voice a deep reassuring purr. “But you don’t have to say much. They’re just looking for a sound-bite and a picture. God, but I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Love,” Dillon replied, grinning at him. “I’m proud of you too. Really, really proud.”

They rounded the bend to where the press were waiting, along with their legal team and well-wishers, but before David could take that final step forward and give the statement he’d prepared in advance, Dillon tugged him back. He smiled at David’s look of confusion, let go of his hand, tangled his own in the man’s dark, thick curls and pulled him in for a kiss. He didn’t care that he could hear the snap of cameras taking their picture, he no longer cared that the world might be watching and he no longer wanted to run away and hide from it. He had spent the last year moving on from the traumas wrought upon him, with David by his side and he felt immense pride at how far he’d come. They had built up a strong and honest relationship, and though it had been slower than he liked, it had been worth it, and Dillon finally felt ready to live again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I haven’t written much original fiction and would love some feedback. I’m trying to get over my fear of criticism and trying to improve my writing so would love to know what you thought, reading this story. Thank you kindly, Chucks.


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